


Crossed Lines

by SandM1827



Series: Son Shine [4]
Category: Sons of Anarchy, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Past Rape/Non-con, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-05
Updated: 2015-09-09
Packaged: 2018-03-29 03:14:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 153,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3880135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SandM1827/pseuds/SandM1827
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"I had an outlaw for a brother and a sheriff for a father. I've always known where the line was. The more wreckage I see, the easier it gets to want to cross that line."</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I've Always Been Known to Cross Lines

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd.  
> Chapter title comes from Cold Desert by Kings of Leon.  
> This will end up being longer than The Domestication Process but short than Betrayal is Unforgivable.  
> This is set a little over 5yrs after Domestication. There will be a look into Juice's past, while Stiles struggles to choose which side of the law he can live on when a SAMCRO enemy resurfaces.  
> Gif set: [Ethan Zobelle](http://stilinski-ortiz.tumblr.com/post/117813642744/son-shine-ethan-zobelle-crossed-lines-part-4-of)

It was a typical scene Juice walked in on early Saturday morning. Abel sitting in front of the TV, watching cartoons, an empty cereal bowl on the coffee table. Stiles fast asleep on the recliner, having woken up for one reason or another in the middle of the night and not having made it back to bed. Thomas curled up with his uncle, wide-awake and focused on the television like his brother, chewing on his shirtsleeve out of boredom.

“Morning, Uncle.” Abel didn’t even take his eyes off the screen long enough to look at him as he spoke, too intrigued by the Ninja Turtles.

“Morning, buddy.” He ruffled the boy’s hair as he came into the living room. “Did your brother eat?”

“No.”

“You hungry, chipmunk?” He asked the younger boy, and, really, he should have waited until the kid was safely off Stiles lap before saying anything.

“Yes!” Thomas responded enthusiastically, arms flailing in a way that was such a Stiles move that Stiles really couldn’t blame anyone but himself for what happened.

“Ow! Motherfu-“ Stiles jerked awake as Thomas’s elbow made contact with his ribcage. “Watch your flying limbs, kid.”

“Sorry.” The boy replied sheepishly as he hopped off the chair.

“How many times did your dad have to say that to you when you were a kid?” Juice asked his husband.

“Too many times.” Who were they kidding, John still said it. “I’m sure this is karmic payback for all the times I did that to him.”

“Probably.” He shuddered to think about the kind of karma that would hit them when the boys became teenagers. “Hungry?”

“Yes!” He shoved his arms out wide in a mocking version of what Thomas had done, only to slam his elbow into the wall next to the chair. “Ow! God da- Oh my god!”

“You and Thomas have spatial proximity issues.” At least the boy had the excuse of being young. “Try not to hurt yourself on your way to the kitchen.”

“Oh, haha.”

Juice only shook his head when Stiles rubbed his injured arm as they made their way into the kitchen. Thomas was sitting dutifully at the table, waiting for his meal. He was practically bouncing in his seat, as if the prospect of food was so exciting.

“What time is Chibs supposed to be here?” Juice questioned as he poured a bowl of cereal.

“Late. We’ll be gone by the time he gets in.” Stiles said while pressing the ‘on’ switch to start the coffee. “He already has the extra house key and I’ll leave the garage keys on the counter for him.”

“Chucky’s been teaching him the computer system, right?” The last time they had left Chibs in charge of the garage, he had crashed the office computer. They had lost everything, resulting in some very disgruntled customers. “It took me a week to recover and restore everything last time.”

“Chucky is confident that Chibs can handle the basics.” The only thing he needed to do was the basics. They could deal with the rest when they returned home. “If something goes wrong then Chucky will come up and fix it, and Lowell will take care of TM.”

“We are putting a lot of faith in Chucky.” It’s not that they didn’t trust Chucky, it’s just, well, it was Chucky.

“He’s run TM on his own for years. I think that qualifies him to train Chibs on how to run _Stilinski’s_ for a few weeks.” If it were only a few days then he wouldn’t be so worried, but it was three weeks not a couple of days. “ _Stilinski’s_ will be fine with Chibs. The boys will be fine with my dad in Beacon Hills. Everything will be fine, maybe even great.”

“Great?” That was stretching things a bit. “Stiles, I don’t know what you expect from this trip…”

“It’s the first vacation you and I will be taking alone in the last five years.” Yeah, their plan to take a trip, just the two of them every summer, didn’t really work out. “We are going to New York. You are going to show me the sights. Seeing your other family will be a bonus. If it is not a nice reunion then we will not see them again while we are there. I am going to make sure we have the best time, no matter how the visit with the rest of the Ortiz’s goes.”

“I’m going to hold you to that.”

He honestly didn’t know what made him decide that returning to Queens, even for a few weeks, was a good idea. He had fought like hell to get out of there, away from the toxicity. In the end, it was his sister, Marisol, who had shoved a small wad of cash in his hands and told him to go with a desperate look in her eyes.

The money she had given him had paid for one meal and a bus ticket that took him two states over. He hitchhiked the rest of the way, no real destination in mind. He used his mouth to pay his way. No one, not even church vans, picked up a teenager off the side of the road for free. Everyone wanted something.

He hadn’t gone looking for Charming. It was just where he ended up after some truck driver wanted to take more than he was willing to give and had thrown him out when he fought back. He had been five blocks away from the clubhouse when he’d been tossed away like a piece of trash. He walked lethargically through town, barely conscious by the time he came upon the garage. He had only been passing by when a wave of nausea and dizziness had hit him, had forced him to latch on to the chain-link fence or risk gravity sending him to the ground.

The next thing he knew a guy with long blond hair and another with an accent he couldn’t understand were at his side, holding him up. He could never figure out what possessed them to take him in to their clubhouse, instead of leaving him on the sidewalk or dropping him off at the hospital. Perhaps they saw his wounds, his ribs protruding through his skin, his ripped clothing, cum stained jeans and blood soaked shirt, and felt sorry for him. Maybe they felt responsible for him because he all but collapsed on their property.

Chibs had stitched up his injuries. Jax had found him some spare clothes that had been lying around. Gemma had made him the first real meal he had in months, sat in front of him until he finished every bite, and then rubbed his back when he had puked it all back up later on. They ordered him to lie down on the couch before he could faint again. The last thing he had seen before falling asleep was a little boy with whiskey colored eyes draping a blanket over him.

“Hey,” Stiles soft tone brought him back to the present with the help of fingers on the nape of his neck. “Where’d you go?”

“Charming.” It was dangerous territory and they both knew it, but this time the memory wasn’t terrible. It was not going to send him down a dark path. “Some kid was covering me up with a blanket after I threw up all over the place.”

“Which time?” It was a fair question, it a was regular occurrence during his days with SAMCRO.

“The first time.”

“I kissed your cheek and told you to feel better too.” He leaned in and brushed his lips against is cheek, an echo of how he had done it all those years ago. “Do I need to tell you to feel better this time?”

“No, I’m good.” He declared while pouring milk into the bowl in front of him and handing it over to Thomas. “Do we have everything packed?”

“I think so. It wouldn’t hurt to double check.” It would be their luck they forgot something important and wouldn’t realize it until they were across the country. “My dad should be here in an hour. Our flight leaves at noon, we have to be there by eleven so we have time to get through security. We should land around what, six or seven?”

“If the flight is on time, yeah.” They got lucky with a direct flight out of Portland. There were no stops or layovers to add time to the trip. “My little brother, Felix, will pick us up from the airport.”

“Did you remember to book the hotel room?”

“Uh, no. Marisol wants us to crash with her.” He had hesitated to say yes, but she used her disappointed older sister voice on him, which was almost as bad as John’s disappointed dad voice, and he caved. “If it doesn’t work out we can get a hotel room. Or, your dad said your grandparents would be more than happy to have us.”

“Yeah, my mom Claudia, her parents live in Staten Island.” They were supposed to have dinner with them one night while they were in New York. “We’ll try out your sister’s house first.”

“Okay.”

“Remind me again,” Stiles said in a slightly pleading tone, as if he hadn’t already memorized everything. “I don’t want to forget and look like an idiot. Raymond is the oldest?”

“Ray.” He corrected out of habit. “He’s my older brother, the oldest of all us of. He is married to Roxanne.”

“They have kids?”

“I have no idea.” He hadn’t talked to Ray since he left Queens and Marisol hadn’t mentioned much about him since they didn’t get along. “Then there’s Marisol.”

“She’s a doctor, right?”

“Yeah.” She had been in med school when he left. “She’s not married and she doesn’t have any kids. She’s kind of the caretaker, though. She takes care of everyone. Angelo was after her, but you know about him.”

“Then Marianna?” Angelo was a tough subject to talk about, so he was thankful when Stiles moved the conversation along without missing a beat.

“Yeah, I’m not really sure what she does or if she does anything.” Like Ray, they hadn’t spoken since his departure. “Don’t read too much into the things she says. She’s an acquired taste. She tends to rub people the wrong way. She’s not very trusting, and she’s very protective. Sometimes that comes off making her look a little unhinged.”

“I had Gemma for a biological mother. I can handle protective, untrusting, and unhinged.” That was a very true. “Hell, people have called me untrusting, protective, and unhinged.”

“So you and Marianna are going to hate each other or love each other. Awesome.” He wasn’t worried about Stiles, he would play nice for his sake. It was his sister who could be problematic. “After Marianna, there is me and then Felix.”

“What does Felix do?”

“Something with a bar. Owns it or manages it. I’m not entirely sure.” He and Felix were considered the black sheep of the family, the wild ones.

“And your mom?” Stiles asked cautiously. “Her name is Antonia?”

“I don’t know if you’ll get to meet her. I don’t know if she will want to see me.” He didn’t know if he wanted to see her either. They had not parted on good terms and there was a lot of history there. “Some crazy shit went down before I left and she…. There’s bad blood there.”

“Okay.” Stiles placed a comforting hand on his back. “We only see who you want to see, only who you are comfortable with. You are in control. They do not own you. They can’t make you do anything, or see anyone, that you don’t want to.”

It was something he needed to hear, something Stiles would probably have to remind him of when they were in Queens. In the past, he had been so susceptible to the people around him. He always felt the need to do what they asked regardless of how it made him feel.

He had gotten better in recent years. Stiles and his therapist helped him learn to say _no_. They taught him to think about his own wellbeing when making decisions and doing things for other people.

“You belong to you.” He belonged to Stiles to, just as Stiles belonged to him, but his husband hated when he vocalized that.

They were both possessive of each other and were not afraid to show that to others trying to get between them. Juice often let Stiles know that the ring on his finger meant Stiles was his, and vice versa. Juice knew that he belonged to Stiles the same way Stiles belonged to him, but he was his own person to, and that’s all Stiles wanted him to know. He made decisions for himself, Stiles didn’t make them for him, and neither did anyone else.

“I know. I won’t fall back on old patterns of behavior.” He assured his husband and hoped it wasn’t a lie.

“I know you won’t.” Stiles always had so much more confidence in him then he ever could. “You’re strong. You always have been. You are stronger now then you were when you left Queens, but you have always had that strength.”

“I love you.” It was the only response he could think of when Stiles talked like that. It was the only thing he could say that meant anything.

“I love you too.”

“I love you too!” Thomas parroted in a singsong voice, breaking up the moment they were having.

“We love you too, chipmunk.” Stiles told their nephew.

“I know.” The _duh_ was heavy in his tone, because, obviously, it was impossible not to love the dork. “Grandpa’s coming today?”

“Yep, you and Abel are going to stay with him at his house, while uncle Juice and I are out of town.” Three whole weeks with grandpa. It was the longest they had ever left them with anyone. “He’s coming to pick you up.”

“He’s staying overnight, isn’t he?” It was a five-hour drive from Beacon Hills, then five-hours back.

“I hope so. I don’t want him on the road that long.” That would mean the house would be full for the night with John, the kids, and Chibs all under the same roof. “If he does, you’ll get to see uncle Chibs tonight, Tommy.”

“Awesome!” Yeah, both boys loved Chibs, almost as much as they loved grandpa. Almost. “Uncle Chibs always gives me candy.”

“Uncle Chibs can pay your dental bills when all that candy rots your teeth.” Dental was expensive, if Chibs wanted to ply the kids with sugar then he could deal with the consequences.

“Scott gives us candy too.”

“Scott is an idiot.” Stiles muttered. “Uncle Chibs knows better.”

“Uncle Chibs talks funny.” Both Juice and Stiles snorted at the child’s assessment of the older man.

“Don’t be rude,” Juice chided Thomas as he got a hold of himself. “Lots of people have accents.”

“Wasn’t being rude.” He replied petulantly. “I like the way he talks.”

“Aww, that’s sweet.”

“Thomas, do you have all the toys you want to take to grandpa's in your bag?” The kids were definitely going to forget things, and would throw tantrums when grandpa refused to drive back to Oregon to retrieve the forgotten items.

“Yep.”

“I want you to double check when you’re done eating. That goes for you to, Abel!” He voiced a little louder so the older boy could hear him in the living room.

“Okay!”

* * *

 

John had shown up late, barely giving them enough time to get to the airport. They were waiting in line to check their baggage when Stiles cellphone vibrated in his pocket.

“Who is it?” Juice asked, shifting bags in his hands to look over Stiles shoulder.

“Work.” It didn’t really make sense, everyone knew they were leaving today. “Should I answer?”

“You kind of have to.” He was no longer a barista. Rejecting calls was not an option when they came from the police station. “They know you are on vacation, that you’re going out of town. If they are calling, it has to be important.”

“I’m going to find somewhere quiet to answer, I’ll be right back.” Juice only nodded when Stiles handed over his duffle and walked off.

He thought they still had a few years before Stiles would get phone calls at all hours of the day to pull him away on a case. As it was, Stiles was only a rookie, a beat cop still in his first year out of the academy. He had shifts, set hours that he worked. He wasn’t a detective or anything that could require them to call him in to work on a case out of the blue.

There was a perplexed look on Stiles face as he joined Juice back in line. The way he angrily shoved his phone in his pocket did not bode well for their trip.

“What is it?”

“The FBI is waiting for me.” If alarm bells hadn’t already been going off in his head, they were sure as hell blaring now. “They want me to consult on something.”

“Uh…okay?” That was new. Stiles had never consulted for anyone before. “You have to go?”

“There’s a black SUV with federal plates waiting for me in the pick-up area.” Shit, they must have really wanted him to come in. “I have to go with them, whether I like it or not. You should get on the plane and I will fly out when I am done here. Is that okay? Are you okay going by yourself? Being there on your own for a day or two?”

“I’ll be fine.” He left Queens on his own, he could return on his own. “I can stay, if you need me.”

“Feds sniffing around…that’s not a risk I want to take with you.” Things had been quiet since they moved to Oregon, but Stiles got twitchy when law enforcement that ranked higher than he did got too close. “I’ll go deal with this. You get on the plane. I’ll meet you when I meet you.”

“Okay.” He handed Stiles bag back to him. “Keep me informed. Let me know what’s going on.”

“I will. Call me when you land, so I know you got there okay.” The younger man urged before giving him a soft kiss. “I may not be able to answer, depending on where I am, but I’ll get back to you when I can.”

"I'll call you."

* * *

 

Stiles was more than a little on edge when two feds led him into the Portland field office, rather than the police station back in Eugene. He wasn’t stupid enough to ask questions, knowing the men with him wouldn’t tell him anything. He thought about bolting on the principal of it, but that would make him look guilty of something.

He let them lead him down a long hallway and into an elevator. He spent the ride up six floors in total silence, trying to keep his nerves in check. He really should not have been surprised when he was taken into a roundtable room with a familiar and unwelcome face waiting for him.

“You couldn’t have dressed a bit more professionally?”

“I was on vacation.” He wasn’t exactly given time to change out of his jeans and hoody. “I should have known it would be you waiting for me. This has your stink all over it, Rafael.”

“It’s Agent McCall.” Agent Dickbag was more like it. “You are a member of law enforcement now. Do try and show some professionalism.”

“Professionalism? Is that what you call having agents pick me up from the airport under the guise of a consultation?” He was just a rookie cop. There was no reason for the feds to call him in for anything. “I don’t work for you or the FBI. So what do you want with me?”

“One of my colleagues retried recently and I was put in charge of his contacts. I’ve become the handler to one of his informants.” At the risk of sounding like a broken record Stiles kept his mouth shut and hoped McCall would get to the point of why he was there. “I need you to interview him.”

“That is part of your job as his handler.” He didn’t even have the clearance to access FBI informants, let alone to interview one. “Why do you want me to do your job for you?”

“Your family tree provides you with a certain insight into criminal organizations.” His blood ran cold when he realized the possibility of where Rafael was going with this. “I want you to debrief an informant that also has ties to those organizations. He is high profile and has a lot of information on high-ranking officials, including governors and senators. He works from the bottom to earn trust. The bottom being gang members and bikers.”

“You are a smart man, Agent McCall.” He lied through his teeth. “I’m sure you are more than capable of debriefing your informant without my insight. Just as I am sure you know what my answer is going to be.”

“Stiles – “

“I can’t help you. I have no _insight_ to offer you.” He shrugged his shoulders and shoved his hands in his pockets. “My family tree doesn’t make me an expert on criminals.”

“Your brother and stepfather were both presidents of the Sons of Anarchy.” It took all he had not to call the older man out for claiming that Clay Morrow was anything to him. It was not the time to become offended by small crap. “You grew up in their clubhouse. You married a member. You and I both know you learned a lot about the clubs inner workings.”

“I learned how to be a mechanic.”

“How these guys operate is very significant. You need to capitalize on your knowledge. If you do, you could very well head up your own task force one day. You could join the ATF, or the FBI, maybe work the Organized Crime Division.” Rafael was laying it on pretty thick now. “You are wasting your talents as a small town beat cop. You could easily earn yourself a spot in the big leagues. This could be the stepping stone to get you there.”

“Did Scott tell you to say that to me?” It was obvious the agent did not believe a word coming out of his own mouth.

“Scott thinks you will say no.” That answered the question as to whether or not the alpha knew this was going down.

“Scott still thinks one of these days I’ll go running back to Charming to join the Redwood Original’s.” Scott wasn’t the brightest bulb and would use anything, from Stiles husband to his career, probably even his father, to lock him down. “He doesn’t realize any chance of that died when my brother was smeared across 580.”

“That’s a glib way to put it.”

“If I don’t laugh, I’ll cry.” He retorted, not caring for the judgmental look coming from McCall. “You came to me with this because you are under the impression that ‘helping’ me further my career will give you an in to Scott. You’re not wrong. It will get you on his good graces. If that’s your play then be honest about it. I don't need your condescending bullshit. There is no other reason you would come all the way from San Francisco just for my insight.”

“It is about Scott. He wants you back in Beacon Hills.” That was never going to happen. “At the very least back in California.”

“There is a better chance of me joining the Sons of Anarchy than there is of me moving back to Beacon Hills.” He was not going to put his children in the middle of that supernatural shitstorm.

“You said – “

“I know what I said.” There was zero chance of either happening. “I will talk to your informant. You can tell Scotty-boy that I played my part and that I enjoyed it. That I’m thinking about a future in a different form a law enforcement, maybe a little closer to my former home. That should keep him off my back for a month.”

“Okay.”

“You will never come to me with this bullshit again.” He let the order sink into his voice, making himself very clear on the subject. “I am not a source you can exploit just to get on your kids good side. I will give you my special insight one time and one time only. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” He seemed taken aback by Stiles behavior, maybe a little frightened by the coldness in his tone.

“Let’s get this over with then.”

“This way.” Rafael led him down a long corridor until they reached a grey door, stopping in front of it long enough to hand Stiles a folder. “This is the information you will need. He only recently returned to the country. He hasn’t worked with us since 2009. I need his whereabouts and activities for the last ten years. I need to know everything before we put him back in the field.”

“Okay.”

Stiles braced himself before opening the door, glancing down to the file as he entered. The door clicked shut behind him ominously, locking him inside with the informant. He could see a silver haired man out of the corner of his eye, but his focus was on the name typed out on the first page of the file.

“Ethan Zobelle.”

“Hello,” The man smiled politely, a hand offered out when Stiles finally looked up from the paperwork. “You are the one who is going to interview me?”

“Yeah.” He didn’t take proffered appendage, instead choosing to set the file carefully down on the table and taking a few calculated steps toward the informant. “I’m supposed to debrief you.”

“That is what Agent McCall said.” He dropped his hand to the side and stared at Stiles for a moment as if he was seeing someone else. “I didn’t catch your name.”

“I didn’t give it.”

“You look familiar to me.” Zobelle admitted. “Have we met before?”

“No, we have not. A lot of people say I look like my mother and you have met her before.” This would be the only situation that would call for him to willingly leave out the _biological_ he usually tacked on before _mother_. “Gemma Teller Morrow.”

“Oh.” He didn’t look concerned by the new information, instead his smile widened and he proceeded to say exactly the wrong thing. “She was a very beautiful woman. My previous associate’s enjoyed their time with her immensely.”

* * *

 

Juice was on his phone trying to get a hold of Stiles as soon as he got off the plane. He had a sick feeling in his stomach the moment he boarded, but brushed it off as separation anxiety. It only became worse the further away he got, the more distance there was between them.

Stiles lack of answering his calls did nothing but exasperate the problem. It made him agitated and irritable, neither of which were good states to be in while at the airport. It caused him to snap at an elderly couple at baggage claim, to flash his eyes, and possibly some teeth, at a group of teenagers that were blocking the exit he needed to use.

“I fucking hate New York.” He grumbled under his breath as he shoved his way to the parking area.

He scanned the vicinity, looking for a recognizable face, or maybe a not so recognizable face. He hadn’t seen his younger brother in over fifteen years, there was no telling how much he had changed. He probably should have asked his sister to send him a recent photo.

“Juan Carlos!” He nearly jumped out of his skin at his name being called and the feel of a hand dropping onto his shoulder.

He jerked away out of instinct. He spun around quickly, nearly losing his footing. He swore under his breath, pissed off with himself for being so careless, for not being on the lookout for a threat, for becoming too comfortable in Oregon.

“Fuck!” He stumbled back a few steps before regaining his balance and looking up at his assailant. “Fee?”

“No one calls me Fee anymore.” The other man said indignantly. “It’s just Felix.”

“No one calls me Juan Carlos anymore.” Except John when he was in trouble. “It’s JC or Juice.”

“Juice?”

“Yeah, Juice.” There was no way he was explaining that monikers origin to his little brother. “Shit, you’re taller than me now.”

“Yep.” He looked far too pleased about that. “This all your stuff?”

"Yeah.”

“I’m parked over here.”

Juice followed his brother to a pale green hybrid sedan. He gave it a dubious look as he climbed in the passenger seat, dumping his bag in the back. He drummed his fingers nervously against his knee as Felix started the vehicle.

“Nice wheels.” He said when he couldn’t hold it back anymore.

“Don’t make fun.” Felix warned, looking embarrassed. “It’s Roxanne’s. She borrowed my truck to hall some stuff to storage. This is easier to navigate around airport traffic anyway.”

“I wasn’t making fun. I drive a Volvo, okay?” His main mode of transportation was a freaking family car. “A Volvo with a booster seat in the back, toys scattered about, and crayons melted into the upholstery.”

“You have kids?”

“Two boys.” He let pride sink into his voice. They might not have been born to him or Stiles, but they were still their boys. “Abel and Thomas.”

“You’re married.” Felix gestured toward the ring that sat on his finger.

“For about five years now.” Their anniversary was still a few weeks away. “My husband is going to be flying in soon, a day or so. He got called into work last minute.”

“Husband?”

“His name's Stiles.” He leveled his brother with a challenging look. “That a problem for you?”

“No. No problem. To each his own, man.” Felix waved off his question. “As long as you’re happy, right?”

“Right.”

“So, your kids are adopted?” He didn’t really see why that mattered.

“We officially adopted them last year, but we’ve had guardianship of them as long as we’ve been married.” The adoption papers didn’t change much, but it made all of them feel more secure. “They’re my old man’s nephews biologically.”

“Complicated situation then?”

“Not anymore.” The parents being dead sort of took the complications out of it. “What about you? Married? Kids?”

“Nope. I’m a free agent.” He didn’t seem very happy about that. “I had a girl for a while. Maggie. She was pregnant, but we lost the baby. It was hard to be around each other after that. She split.”

“Sorry.” He had no idea about any of that, of anything his little brother had been through. “Awful shit, man.”

“Yeah.” Felix nodded solemnly, before shaking it off. “Everyone is really excited to see you.”

“Everyone?” He doubted that was true.

“Oh yeah. Marisol, dude, she has been off the walls since you said you were coming. She’s been like a damn live wire. It’s like she’s got her light back. I haven’t seen her this happy since…” A haunted look flickered over his face. “Since before you left.”

“I didn’t want to leave.” That wasn’t true, not really, and he didn’t want to start his relationship with his brother on a lie. “I wanted to leave Queens, to leave New York. That was always the plan. I did not want to leave you behind. Any of you.”

“You didn’t call or write. You cut us off.” There was no accusation, just sadness and a new tense set to Felix’s shoulders. “One day, I had three big brothers and within two years I was down to one. Fucking Ray. And you…you were my best friend.”

“I’m sorry.” They had been close, and it had broken his heart to leave him behind, but it was a necessary evil at the time. “I didn’t have time to think when I left. I just had to go. I’m sorry that I abandon you. It was never my intention.”

“Don’t do it again.”

“I can’t stay. This isn’t my home anymore.” Queens had never felt like home, and he had been raised there. Charming was the first place that ever felt right, had been his home for a long time. Now home wasn’t a place but a person, it was with Stiles and their boys. “I won’t just bail, though. I’ll keep in touch this time.”

“You better or Marisol will have your balls surgically removed.” Felix cautioned with a chuckle.

“I’m more worried about Marianna and Roxanne.” He would bet good money on being bitch slapped by one or both the moment they saw him.

“Rox is almost as excited about you as Marisol. I think you are okay on that end.” Well, Roxanne always had a soft spot for him. She had been his babysitter when she was in high school, when she first started dating his brother Ray. “It’s a good idea to have a healthy fear of Marianna, bro. We all do.”

“Marianna is Marianna, man.” She’s always been what she was. A little unstable, but in a familiar way. He could probably understand her more now than he did when he was younger. “Where, uh, where does Ray land on this? My little visit?”

“Rox will keep him in line.” Yeah, he had no doubt about that.

“That’s not what I asked.”

“I’m not really in Ray’s inner circle.” Ray had never really taken to him or Felix. He saw them more as nuisances than brothers. “You are going to have to talk to Marisol about where he and Mom are with this.”

“You see her much? Mom?” Their mother was a touchy subject for all of them.

“Now and again. She lives with Ray and Roxanne.” Marisol had told him that much. “You remember how she was after dad took off?”

“Yeah.” After his stepfather had gone missing, his mother sort of spiraled into grief.

“Losing him and you so close together…she never really came back from that.” Juice felt a new weight of guilt in his heart at his brother’s admission.

“I’m sorry.” He would be saying that a lot during this visit, he was sure.

“You had your reasons for leaving. I know it’s not because you owed money to the wrong person, like Ray says.” That was the story that had to be told. It wasn’t the truth. Only one other person knew what really happened. “I’m not going to ask. I know it had to be something bad, but as far as I’m concerned, it’s in the past. I’m just glad to see you again.”

“It’s good to see you too, little brother.”

* * *

 

The hospital stunk like antiseptic and death, which was the normal smell for places like that and he fucking hated it. The smell and the god-awful beige wallpaper. It all made him want to puke.

“This cast is going to stay on your hand for a few weeks.” The doctor did a once over of the blue cast covering Stiles left hand and wrist. “The stitches on your chest will be removed in a few weeks as well. Your regular doctor can take care of those for you.”

“Any idea of when you’ll be releasing me?” He would rather not be there any longer than he had to.

“I’m keeping you overnight.” Stiles tried to bite back the groan of displeasure but failed horribly if the sympathetic look the doctor sent him meant anything. “You suffer from high blood pressure and heart arrhythmia, correct?”

“Yes.” He thought he had escaped the family flaw that originated from the Madock side of his bloodline. He had been partially wrong. He was not born with holes in his heart like other members of his family. The heart rhythm problems his was predisposed to, however, were triggered five months before. “I take medication for both.”

“I can see that in your chart. The problem is that the shock from the taser caused your heartbeat to become erratic, and we had to regulate it, because the medication was not doing enough to help you.” Oh yeah, he was painfully aware of just how they regulated his heartbeat. A catheter with an electrude at its tip. So much fun. “I want to keep an eye on your heart, so you are staying here for the night. I will release you in the morning if there are no complications.”

“Okay.”

“What is your pain level?” She questioned while flashing a penlight in his eyes. “Scale of one to ten.”

“I’m fine.”

“I asked your pain level, not how you were, Officer Stilinski.” Very few people could perfect that particular tone of annoyance. “Scale of one to ten.”

“Four?” He tried.

“Really?” She wasn’t buying that for a second.

“I don’t like pain medication.” It made his head feel heavy and disoriented. Those were two things he could not afford to be right now. “Ibuprofen or aspirin will be fine.”

“Just press the call button if you decide you need something stronger.” She gave him a tight smile. “Is there anyone we can call for you?”

“No, I’m okay.” Juice would already be in Queens by now, and while his father and Chibs were both at his house, he did not want them to know about what was going on just yet. “Thank you.”

“Okay. A nurse will be in soon to check on you.”

He looked down at his right wrist, the one handcuffed to the gurney, as the doctor walked out. He expected the door to slam shut behind her. Instead, more footsteps signaled another presence in the room. He lifted his eyes back up to see who had intruded on his space to find Rafael McCall’s bruised face staring back at him.

The sight of the older McCall being black and blue would have given him satisfaction any other day. Especially since he was the one to dole out that damage. It was too bad he was unable to feel anything but apathy for the older man.

“I don’t think you are supposed to be in here.” He was still a little hazy on a few things, but he was pretty sure that McCall had filed him with assault and battery charges on him.

“Ethan Zobelle is in intensive care, breathing with the help of a ventilator.” That meant Zobelle was still alive, he wasn’t certain how he felt about that. “I sent you in to that room to debrief him, not so you could beat him to death.”

“He’s breathing, ventilator or not, so I didn’t beat him to death.” He wanted to, though. The moment he entered the room he wanted that man’s blood on his hands. “And that is on you.”

“Excuse me?”

“What happened to your informant is on you.” He would gladly take responsibility for his own actions, but Rafael had to take some too. “You locked me in a room with that son of a bitch, and you didn’t expect me to have a volatile reaction? What kind of angle are you playing?”

“How the hell was I supposed to know that you were going to attack an informant unprovoked?” Stiles had no clue whether or not Rafael was being serious or not. He could not possibly be as brain dead as he acted. “And then you assaulted three federal agents, including myself, when they tried to subdue you.”

“Unprovoked?” Like hell it was unprovoked. “Did you read Zobelle’s file? Did you look for a connection between him and me?”

“I read his file backwards and forwards.” He didn’t do a very thorough job then. “There is no connection to you in it.”

“There is to the Sons of Anarchy and to Gemma Teller Morrow, therefore to me.” McCall knew who his family was, it was the only reason he was called to consult to begin with.

“There is nothing about Gemma Teller Morrow or the Sons of Anarchy in Ethan Zobelle’s file.”

“That’s convenient.” Rafael was a lying piece of shit. “Look a little harder you incompetent douchebag.”

Machines started blaring to life as his anger at the situation grew. McCall sent the monitors a glare, like they were making so much noise to purposely annoy him. Nurses and doctors scrambled into the room, pushing the older man out of the way so they could get to Stiles.

“You need to leave.” The doctor more or less yelled in McCall’s general direction.

“Do not come back unless my lawyer is present.” He wheezed as he felt his chest tighten before a nurse placed an oxygen mask over his face.

* * *

 

The home they pulled up to was a lot nicer than the one he had grown up in. It was a modest row house in a pretty neighborhood. It loosened something inside of his chest to see it, made him relax for the first time since he got on the plane that afternoon. The family he left behind was living comfortably, not in some shithole like before. He didn’t have to feel bad for living in suburbia, for having a good life, because his other family was doing well for themselves too.

He snatched his bag from the back as he climbed out of the car. He trailed Felix up the front steps and into the house. It was quiet inside, the living room felt warm and welcoming, such a difference from the last time he had been in Queens.

“Marisol!” Felix bellowed loudly, causing him to flinch at the volume. “I have a special delivery from the airport!”

Juice listened to shuffling coming from what he assumed was the kitchen, given the clanging sounds of pots being dropped to countertops. Marisol appeared in the doorway a moment later. She looked exactly the same as she had when she dropped him off at the bus depot, a few more wrinkles, but still beautiful. He suspected the tears in her eyes were of happiness this time, rather than sadness.

“Juan Carlos…” She choked a sob around his name.

“Hi, Sis.” It rolled off his tongue so easily, as if he said it just yesterday.

She rushed over to him throwing her arms around his neck. He wrapped his own around her in return, buried his face in her hair. Even without his enhanced senses, he could still smell the strawberry shampoo she had always worn.

“I missed you.” He whispered into her ear, feeling his own emotions swell.

“I missed you too, kiddo.” She gripped him tighter, her nails digging into his shoulders. “I missed you so goddamn much, baby brother.”

“Hey! I’m the baby.” Felix stomped his foot in mock petulance. “I’m the youngest that makes me the baby of the family.”

“When Juan Carlos is home, he is the baby.” Marisol replied as she pulled back, stepping out of his space but keeping a hand on his arm as if she were stopping him from running off. “You, FeeFee, are just a brat.”

“FeeFee?” He couldn’t help but laugh as his brothers face flushed red. “I thought we dropped that nickname when he was four to keep him from turning into a pussy.”

“No one calls me FeeFee!” The younger argued, acting more like a teenager than a man over thirty. “It’s Felix.”

“Okay, FeeFee.” He smacked his brother on the back jovially. “As I told him, Mari, no one calls me Juan Carlos.”

“It’s JC or Juice now.” Felix explained to their sister. “Care to wager on where _Juice_ came from?”

“No.” She shook her head. “I’m sure there’s a story there, though.”

“Yeah, a story I will keep to myself.” Tiggy and Chibs were the only other people still alive who knew that story. “You got a nice place here.”

“I like it.” She jerked her head toward the couch. “Want to sit?”

“Sure.”

On his own, he would have headed toward the recliner, but Marisol had other ideas. She used her grip on his arm to lead him to the couch, keeping him close as they sat down and letting Felix take the armchair.

“Are you hungry?” She asked suddenly. “I was planning on a late dinner, but I can make you something.”

“I’m okay.” He couldn’t help but smile at her mother-henning. “I had a big lunch before I got on the plane.”

“Something to drink?”

“I’m fine, Mari.” He patted her leg. “You don’t need to ‘mom’ me.”

“I’m not mom-ing you.” She chuckled before a police siren sounded in the room, originating from his pants pocket. “What the hell is that?”

“My father-in-law’s ringtone. He’s a sheriff. It seemed like a funny idea at the time.” He flashed her an apologetic smile as he pulled out his phone to answer it. “Hello?”

_“Hey Son, did your flight get in okay?”_

“Yeah, I’m at my sister’s house now.” He assured the older man. “Is everything okay? The boys?”

 _“They’re good. They're outback playing right now.”_ That didn’t explain his worried tone. _“Stiles isn’t with you, is he?”_

“No. He was called into work last minute. He said he would fly out when he was done.” Juice had no idea of when that would be. “I’ve called him a few times since I landed, but he’s not answering. Have you heard from him?”

 _“Not him, but I just got a very loud phone call from Agent McCall.”_ That could not mean anything good. _“Apparently, Stiles broke Rafael’s nose.”_

“Good for him.” He said without thinking, then thought better of it and corrected himself, albeit halfheartedly. “I mean, that’s terrible. Why would he do something like that?”

 _“McCall was probably asking for it.”_ Yeah, none of them were fans of Scott’s dad. _“Stiles does not just beat people up. What I want to know is why Stiles was with him to begin with.”_

“He got a call from the station while we were at the airport. They said the FBI wanted him to consult on something. They didn’t really give him a choice, had an SUV waiting for him outside.” It was all very suspicious, to say the least. “McCall’s handy work, probably.”

 _“What the hell could he possibly want Stiles to consult on?”_ That was the million-dollar question.

“It had to be bad if it set Stiles off.” Stiles was not a brawler. Violence was not his default setting, like it had been for Jax. “McCall traveling all the way from San Fran was a big move. That trip and Stiles violent reaction can only be about family. That is the only thing that matters enough for him to risk slugging a federal agent.”

 _“Yeah, but which family?”_ His blood family, the one he chose, or the one he made for himself? _“He’s not answering my calls, which is why I’m worried.”_

“Do you want me to come back?” He would in a second if he had to.

 _“No.”_ John said quickly. _“He’s probably still at the station.”_

“You’re at our house, right? If he’s not there or at the station, then he could be at the garage. He works on the cars or bikes when he’s frustrated.” Dealing with either of the McCall men frustrated Stiles to no end. “If he doesn’t come home at all, then my guess is that he’s out on 580.”

 _“580?”_ The concern was heavy in the older man’s voice.

“When his head gets loud or he’s feeling conflicted, he grabs Jax’s bike and rides down to 580.” It was a long drive, but Juice couldn’t judge him for it. He did the same thing, except he headed toward Yosemite. “If he doesn’t go to you, me, or Chibs for support, then he seeks out the dead for some solace. If he does not come home, you are going to find him on 580 at Jax and JT’s memorial, or in Charming at the cemetery visiting the others. Being with the dead brings him peace, calms his mind.”

_“Do you really think that’s a good idea?”_

“I never said it was healthy, but it works for him when nothing else can.” He was not going to be the one to deny Stiles anything that brought him some tranquility.

 _“I would like it if he turned to his friends when he needed someone to calm him.”_ That was understandable.

“Friends? Do you mean the people who call him a miserable prick and try to manipulate him?” Stiles might turn to his friends if he had any. “He doesn’t trust them and they don’t understand him. They can’t look past the way he’s changed, the way he didn’t bounce back after we lost Jax.”

 _“I know.”_ There was a serious disconnect between Stiles and his friends since Jax’s funeral. They were not on the same wavelength anymore.

The pack were all still in their wild early twenties, not even trying to navigate through their post-college lives and into adulthood yet. Stiles had been thrust into the real world after high school. He didn’t have a choice in the matter. While the pack were enjoying their first years at college, making new friends, rushing frats and sororities, Stiles was changing dirty diapers and opening a business. Now, while Stiles was beginning his career with the police force, raising two kids, and running the garages, the others were off taking trips and going to parties, not having a care in the world. They were not at the same points in their lives, Stiles was living years ahead of them.

“Look, give it the night before you start worrying. He knows to check in.” He wouldn’t make them worry if he could help it. “McCall could have him in locked up on assault charges. If neither of us hear from him by morning then have Chibs put a call in to Tig and see if he made the ride to Charming. You can call the station and I will call the lawyer. Give him tell morning.”

 _“Alright. I’ll take your lead on this.”_ Juice was well aware of how hard it was for John to do that. _“I’ll let you get back to your family. I didn’t mean to interrupt anything or worry you.”_

“It’s okay.” He didn’t mind getting phone calls of any kind from his Stilinski family. “Give my boys a kiss for me, tell them I love them. Call me if you hear from Stiles and I’ll do the same.”

 _“I’ll do that.”_ John assured him. _“Love you, Son.”_

“Love you too, Pop.” He let that be their goodbye, hanging up the phone soon after.

“Pop?” Marisol questioned.

“My father-in-law.” He thought that was obvious.

“Boys?”

“My kids.”

“Stiles?”

“My old man.”

“My baby brother is all grown up.” She threw her arms around his neck again. “I want to see pictures!”

“Here.” He thrusted his phone at her after disentangling her arms from around him.

“Fuck you for not sending us invites to your wedding, bro.” Felix flipped him the bird. “That’s cold.”

“There was a lot going on and we didn’t really have a ceremony. It was a courthouse thing.” The sheriff and Melissa were the only ones aside from the Justice of the Peace to witness their union. “We didn’t invite anyone.”

“Is this your guy?” Marisol asked about the wallpaper on his phone. It was of Stiles all right, standing on a baseball field, directing the traffic of little league players.

“Yep.”

“He’s young.” She pointed out, though Stiles didn’t look particularly young in that photo. He was noticeably younger compared to them, but older compared to people of his own age. Stress and loss had aged him, caused him to look years older than he was.

“He’s twenty-three.” He let that sit in the air for a moment. There were ten years between he and Stiles, and he was well aware of how that could look to some people.

“You said you had been married for five years.” Felix raised his brows at him. “He would have been what, eighteen?”

“Yeah. He was sixteen when we started seeing each other.” He was not cowed by the disapproving look his older sister shot him. He would receive a far worse reaction from their older brother.

“How did you meet?” She chose to ask rather than commenting on the age difference.

“His older brother sort of took me in when I ended up in California.” His family in Queens didn’t know about the club, about his life there, only that he had ended up in Charming. “He was eight when I showed up. I was basically his designated babysitter when he came to town, if his brothers had other things to do. We became friends when he got older. Then it turned into what it is now, when he was in high school. I know how that could look – “

“We’re not judging – “

“Yes you are and that’s okay, because you weren’t there, you didn’t watch it happen.” To the people who didn’t see, who didn’t know everything, he probably came off like a predator. “Just don’t make assumptions without the history to back it up.”

“Okay.” She gave him a brief smile before turning back to the phone. “Are these your boys?”

“Yeah.” He glanced down at the picture of two blond kids smiling brightly for the camera. “Abel is the older one and Thomas is the one with the long hair.”

“They are adorable.” Any uncomfortableness from the previous line of conversation was wiped away as she gushed over his children.

“They are and they know it.” They used it to their advantage every chance they got. “They are smart as hell too.”

“Your man is a cop?” The surprise was evident in her voice as she came upon the picture of him, Stiles, and John at Stiles police academy graduation. “I did not see that coming.”

“What?” Felix said dumbly. “A cop? Really?”

“It’s his first year on the force.” He spent a lot of time running from the cops in Queens and Charming, but Oregon was the only place he had ever ran toward one.

“So, you drive a Volvo, married a cop, and you have two perfect kids.” The disbelief on his brothers face enough to make him snort humorously. “Anything else?”

“I own my own garage.”

“You are downright respectable.” It was a shocker, he knew.

“I’m proud of you.” Marisol took his hand in hers and gave it a squeeze. “The life you have made for yourself… I’m so proud of you.”

“I did a lot of damage to myself and to other people to get there.” Thing he never wanted to admit to her or any of them. “But I got there.”

* * *

 

He settled back on the hospital bed in a poor attempt to relax. It was hard to do when he while handcuffed to the railing and was staring down at his phone that showed he had eighteen missed calls between his husband and his father, along with several unanswered text messages. He felt terrible for making them worry. It was the exact opposite of what he wanted when he chose not to contact them earlier.

He scrubbed his free hand over his eyes, cursing himself when the cast scratched against them. He gathered whatever courage he had to press the call button. The only way to keep his family from being sick with worry was to talk to one of them.

 _“Hello?”_ Juice’s voice flittered over the line.

“Hey, it’s me.” He replied awkwardly, as if the older man couldn’t read the caller ID. “Sorry it took me so long to get back to you.”

 _“Is everything okay? Your dad called earlier looking for you.”_ The heavy tone of anxiety lacing his husbands tone told him he was fully prepared to hear bad news.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” He answered without thinking, and then smacked himself on the forehead for being so stupid. _I’m fine_ was his tell, it meant everything was absolutely not in the realm of okay.

 _“You broke McCall’s nose.”_ Juice responded rather than calling Stiles out on his blunder. _“He called your dad to whine about it.”_

“McCall’s a wuss.” He could not believe Rafael had gone crying to his father like a pansy, as if Stiles was a playground bully that needed a good spanking. “It was an accident, but he deserved it.”

_“Want to tell me why?”_

“Not on an open phone line during an on-going investigation.” He was in enough trouble as it was. “I’ll explain everything when I see you.”

_“Any idea of when that will be?”_

“A day or two, I hope.” It really depended on how quickly he could get everything cleared up with the FBI. “Maybe longer. I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

 _“Are you hurt?”_ Stiles looked down at the cast on his hand and the wires attached to his chest and thought about lying, if only to save his husband from a sleepless night. _“Keep in mind that I can hear the heart monitor through the phone.”_

“I’ll be okay.”

_“Not what I asked.”_

“The overnight stay in the hospital is just a precaution."

 _“Not what I asked.”_ Juice repeated impatiently. _“Stop deflecting. Are you physically hurt?”_

“I have a black eye, a broken hand, and a wound on my chest that is stitched closed.” Rafael was responsible for his eye, Zobelle had been the one to stab him in the chest with a pen, and his hand was his own fault. The rest of the damage was from another agent that was trying to restrain him. “I’ve got minor burns on my side from getting up close and personal with a taser.”

_“A taser? Stiles, your heart – “_

“I didn’t ask to be tasered.” No one asked to be tasered. Except maybe Tig. That seemed like something he would be in to. “They had to regulate my heartbeat and that is why they are keeping me overnight.”

 _“Give me one good goddamn reason why I shouldn’t come home right now.”_ From the rustling around Stiles could hear from that end of the phone, he was gearing up to do just that.

“It won’t do my heart any good to see you dragged off in cuffs because some overzealous fed decided to run your prints.” That was probably his paranoia talking, but he was not willing to take that chance. “I am okay, I promise. There is no reason for you to be riding up on a white horse to my rescue.”

_“Are you sure?”_

“Yes.” He put as much force as he could behind the words, willing his husband to believe him. “How are things on your end? Are _you_ okay?”

 _“I’m good.”_ That was a much better response than he was expecting. _“I’ve only seen Marisol and Felix so far. I’m with them now. I’ve been showing off pictures of you and the kids.”_

“Nice pictures, I hope.” Hopefully, nothing that could embarrass.

 _“Always are if someone is smiling.”_ Corny son of a bitch. _“My brother and sister can’t wait to meet you.”_

“I want to meet them too.” If things worked out, he would get to do that very soon. “I’m sorry. I am supposed to be there. I swore that I would be with you when you went back there. I’m so sorry.”

 _“You didn’t have a choice, Stiles. It’s okay.”_ Juice tried to reassure him, but it did nothing to nullify his guilt. _“I think it’s good that I do some of this on my own, but I want you here with me as soon as you can be.”_

“I’ll get on the first flight out as soon as I have the _okay_ from the feds.” That was assuming he didn’t get thrown in a jail cell as soon as he was released from the hospital.

 _“In the mean time, you need to call your dad.”_ The older man informed him. _“He was worried after he got that call from McCall.”_

“I’ll call him. If you talk to him again, do not tell him I am in the hospital.” He did not want his father sitting at his bedside with the stress of his condition weighing on him. “He won’t go home if he knows, and I want him and the boys to be out of town until this case is finished.”

 _“I won’t tell him but he will find out.”_ Yeah, his dad always did, one way or another. _“He will be well on his way back to Beacon Hills before the doctors let you go in the morning.”_

“I’m counting on that.” Chibs would be at the garage by then as well. “Hey, I’m going to let you get back to your brother and sister. I didn’t mean to pull you away from them. I just wanted to let you know that I was okay and that I miss you.”

 _“I miss you too. I will call you in the morning."_ Juice promised. _"Make sure you get some sleep tonight. I love you.”_

“I love you too.”


	2. This One's for the Torn Down, the Experts at the Fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd.  
> Warnings: Mentions of past rape/non-con.  
> Chapter title comes from: Comes and Goes (In Waves) by Greg Laswell  
> Gif set: [Juice is in Queens.](http://stilinski-ortiz.tumblr.com/post/118564063529/son-shine-juice-is-in-queens-crossed-lines)  
> 

Ten to one, Stiles was winning for most irritating patient. He refused to sleep and any offers of pain medication. Doctors and nurses chided him on both whenever they came to check on him. In his defense, he tried to sleep, but every time he closed his eyes, he saw Gemma’s face after what they thought to be car accident. It was enough to shock him awake and send his blood pressure skyrocketing. As for the pain, well, he never minded pain.

“Mr. Stilinski,” A familiar female voice pulled him from his the dark recesses of his mind and back to the present. “It’s been a few years.”

“Lowen, thanks for coming.” He gestured for the attorney to sit in the open chair at his bedside. “I’m sorry you had to make such a long trip, and so early in the morning.”

“Would you like to tell me why?” She asked as she settled into her seat, placing her briefcase on her lap. “I would assume that after all this time you would have different representation.”

“I do, but you have a connection to this case.” She could provide him with valuable documentation to get his name cleared. “Something tells me you keep meticulous records.”

“I do.” She confirmed. “What case?”

“You were in the room with Gemma when she gave her statement about Zobelle, correct?” The focus of that statement was to prove self-defense in Gemma’s killing of Polly Zobelle, but it would be helpful to link Ethan Zobelle to his family.

“Yes.”

“Do you have a copy of that statement?”

“It should be in my files.” She didn’t seem sure of herself. “It was ten years ago, but it should still be in the records I have in storage. Why do you need it?”

“I was called to debrief an FBI informant. It was Ethan Zobelle.” He did not know if he was allowed to tell anyone, even a lawyer, about an informant, but oh well. “I didn’t know who he was until I was locked in the room with him. He’s in the ICU.”

“The FBI should never have called you in to begin with.” She looked as suspicious about their motives as he felt. “It was putting you in danger, because your mother killed his daughter. It was putting him in danger, because he had your mother raped.”

“According to his handler, Special Agent Rafael McCall, there is nothing in Zobelle’s file about the Sons of Anarchy or Gemma.” Considering Charming was the last place Zobelle was before he went off the FBI’s radar, it should have raised some red flags with McCall’s superiors. “Without that connection, I just look like a psycho who went off the rails. I’m being charged with attempted murder, which is a little harsh even if there was no connection, and assault and battery on a federal agent. I jammed my elbow into McCall’s nose when he tried to pull me away from Zobelle.”

“That explains why you are wearing a metal bracelet.” She motioned toward the cuff around his wrist.

“I’m not trying to make a fashion statement.” Wrist jewelry wasn’t really his style.

“Why were you called to consult in the first place?”

“I grew up with SAMCRO.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Rafael thinks that makes me an expert on the criminal mind.”

“They know your link to SAMCRO, but not Zobelle’s?” Stiles nodded. “Do you know McCall personally? Is that why he called on you?”

“His son Scott, was my best friend for a long time.” He didn’t hold the same status in Stiles life anymore. “Rafael never really liked me. He tried to get my dad fired from his position as sheriff when I was in high school.”

“So, you have a history. He has a personal grudge against your family.” If anything that should help their case, not hinder it. “Agent McCall is the one who put you on the case, in the room with Zobelle. He is the one saying there is no tie between Zobelle and Gemma or the club.”

“Yeah.” It didn’t look good for Rafael.

“Okay. First things first, I am going to get that cuff removed from your wrist.” He would be very grateful for that. “I’m going to call my assistant and have him find that statement. Then I am going to call the ATF and have them fax me their video copy of it, so we have double the ammunition to use in your defense. I am going to file counter suit against the FBI, stating they willfully placed you in harm’s way – “

“I don’t want to get into a legal battle with the feds.” It would only prolong things. “I want the charges against me dropped. I want Zobelle to be held accountable for what he did. For the car bomb that nearly killed Chibs, for having Juice shanked in prison, and having Gemma raped.”

“Whether or not Ethan Zobelle can be charged is not up to me. He is a federal informant. It is up to a federal judge to charge him with anything.” Which meant the older man would probably walk and continue on with the illegal activities he partakes in on the governments dime. “Gemma’s statement connects Zobelle through his daughter. The focus was primarily on the murder case, not the rape. It will not be enough to indict him. As for you, I can get the assault and battery charges thrown out. I can probably have the attempted murder charge lowered to assault. I will try, but I do not know if I can get all the charges dropped completely.”

“What if I had a statement about the rape itself?” He theorized. “What if there was a recording of Gemma admitting what happened to her?”

“If there was a recording the linked Zobelle to what happened, then I could probably get the charges dropped on the grounds of extreme emotional distress.” She placed a consoling hand on his knee. “I was never told about a recording.”

“They tape debriefs, right? So no one misses anything?” He questioned rather than responding to what she had said. “Zobelle, he, uh, said something to me. It could help our case.”

“I’ll file a court order to see the video.” It would be his luck that was lost as well or that someone conveniently forgot to turn the camera on. “I’m going to go get all of that started so we can remove those cuffs before you are released from the hospital.”

“Thank you.”

* * *

 

His feet pounded roughly against the pavement as he jogged the last block to his sister’s house. As he climbed the steps, he noticed two new cars parked at the sidewalk. That could only mean one thing, and it made him hesitant when opening the front door.

He pulled the headphones from his ears and slipped off his shoes as he entered. He let the voices from the kitchen lead him in. Marisol was standing at the stove, flipping pancakes. His oldest brother Ray was sitting at the breakfast table with their other sister and Roxanne.

“Well, look who finally decided to show up.” Marianna drawled with a smirk, kicking him in the leg without moving from her chair.

“Hi, Sissy,” He leaned down to kiss her forehead, running a hand through her brown hair as he did so. “It’s good to see you too.”

“Hot damn, look at you.” His sister-in-law wolf whistled at him when he kissed her cheek in greeting. “You grew up nice, kiddo.”

“Thanks.” He had come a long way from the scrawny eighteen year old they had last seen. “Hey Ray.”

“Juan Carlos,” Being under Ray’s scrutinizing gaze made him nervous in the worst way. It made him feel like a teenager about to get an ass whooping or a lecture.

“Morning, sweetheart.” Marisol rubbed a hand up and down his back. “Where you been?”

“Went for a run.” It was part of his morning routine.

“I got up around seven, went to the guest room to check on you." She informed him with disapproval in her tone. "You weren't there."

“You checked on me?” What was he five years old?

“I had to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating your homecoming.” Finding his bed empty probably worried her. “We didn’t actually go to bed until well after three. You were out the door before seven. Did you get any sleep at all?”

“A bit.” He spent a few hours tossing and turning, trying to find a comfortable position. He kept reaching for Stiles out of habit, only to find his side of the bed cold. “I guess I’m not used to sleeping alone anymore.”

“You were gone a long time for someone going on a run.” There was no lack of accusation coming from his oldest brother as he spoke. “Mari checked on you at seven and it’s after ten now.”

“I haven’t been back in a while. I took my time to take in the sights and sounds.” He had gotten fucking lost, but he wasn't about to admit that to them. He had gotten lost first, then decided to take in the scenery. It was a sorry attempt to delay the awkward and uncomfortable situation he found himself in now.

“So, you didn’t go back to the old neighborhood?” From the sounds of things, Ray had already made up his mind about what Juice had really done while he was out. “Didn’t go looking to score off some of your old friends?”

“I don’t have any friends here, and I don’t use anymore.” Weed was his only vice. He wasn’t a hardcore junkie like his brother was implying.

“That’s right. You stole your friends stash of heroin, then bolted when they came looking for it.” That was an interesting story, but that was all it was, a story.

“Do not rewrite history, Ray. I was clean when I left.” He was freshly detoxed when he got on the bus. “I never stole from my friends.”

“Just your family. Mom, Marisol, Angelo, and me.” As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t deny that.

“I paid back every dime I ever took.” He always paid his debts.

“I never saw a penny from you.” Ray argued.

“Yeah, you did.” Roxanne cut in. “Every Christmas he sends a card and cash. I always tell you it is from one of my relatives. You would send it back if you knew it was from him.”

“He sent the money for Angelo’s casket. It was the only way we could afford to bury him.” Marisol told their brother. He was only able to do that because Clay and Gemma had given him a three month advance on his paychecks at TM.

“It’s alright, Ray.” He leveled his brother with a condescending smile. “You don’t have to believe them or me. I know exactly what I’ve done _to_ and _for_ this family. I don’t need you to know it too.”

“No reason for me to believe them.” If the look Roxanne was shooting her husband meant anything, it was that he would be paying for that comment later. “They always protected you, let you hide behind them.”

“For fucks sake, Ray.” Marianna slammed her hand down on the table. “It’s been fifteen years. Give it a goddamn rest.”

“Always hiding behind your sisters.” The elder muttered under his breath.

“Why are you always such a dick, Ray?” Felix asked as he stumbled into the kitchen, wiping sleep from his eyes. “JC hasn’t even been home twenty-four hours and you are already stirring shit up.”

“Like Marianna said, it’s been fifteen years since he showed his face to his family.” Juice bit back the urge to revoke Ray’s right to call him family on the principal of it. “I want to know why he’s here and what he wants.”

“I don’t want anything from you. I don’t need anything from any of you. I just came for a visit. You don’t want me here? That’s fine. You don’t have to see me. I’m not going to leave because you have a problem with me being here. I put up with people who I don’t like, who don’t like me, every day. It’s part of being an adult. You should try it sometime.” He let that hang in the air. He let his brother and everyone else register exactly what he meant.

Marisol’s eyes darted back and forth from him to their brother. She looked ready to take action, to get between them if she had to. Marinna nearly fell out of her chair in shock. She would have hit the floor if Roxanne hadn’t latched on to her. Felix had a hand clapped over his mouth to stifle his laughter. His younger brother always did have the wrong reactions to things. Ray’s face was beat red with anger, expressions of irritation, and what Juice would call respect if it were anyone else, were fighting for a placement on his brother’s face.

“We good, Ray?” He really wanted his brother to agree. It would make things much more comfortable for everyone during his stay.

“Yeah.” Ray said after a beat of silence. “Okay, Juan Carlos.”

“Great.” He would bet cash-money that the ceasefire lasted less than a day. “I’m gonna go shower. I’m gross from my run.”

“Make it quick, breakfast is almost ready.” Marisol ordered.

“That’s okay. I grabbed something from that vegan place down the street while I was out.” Identical looks of distaste twisted up his siblings faces. “Don’t worry. California didn’t turn me into a vegetarian or a vegan. I just try to keep my diet healthy.”

“Keep your health food crap to yourself. We don’t want any.”

“Understood.”

* * *

 

Stiles had to give credit where credit was due, he made an excellent decision in calling Lowen. She had gotten the handcuff removed from his wrist within an hour, and had him released from FBI custody on his own recognizance. By the hospital had checked him out, she had called to tell him that her assistant had found Gemma’s statement and the AFT had agreed to hand over their copy.

Lowen seemed confident about getting the charges lowered to assault, and the ones McCall filed against him dropped completely. It wasn’t enough for him, though. He wanted all of the charges gone, and Zobelle behind bars for the damage he had done. To accomplish even half of that, he had to leave Oregon and travel to Beacon Hills.

It was a big risk. He was not allowed to leave town. If he was caught, he would be thrown in federal lock up until the judge decided what to do with him. It was a risk, but one he knew he had to take, no matter what consequences he may face.

His nerves were pretty much shot to hell by the time he crossed the border into California. His fingers shook as he fumbled with his phone, turning on the hands free-mode before dialing the number of the only person who would be able to calm his mind.

 _“You’re up early.”_ Was how his husband chose to answer the call.

“Yeah.” He didn’t really think of it as being up when he was never down. “Apparently I have trouble sleeping if you are not with me.”

 _“You’re not the only one.”_ He didn’t know whether to find that endearing or annoyingly cute. _“I missed you last night.”_

“I missed you too.” His missed falling asleep next to him and waking up with him. It had only been one day and his heart ached from the separation. Others would probably find them pathetic. “This being apart thing…it’s no good. I don’t like it.”

 _“I don’t like it either.”_ If you looked up codependency in any dictionary and you would find their picture. _“Are you still at the hospital?”_

“No, they cut me loose earlier.” The doctors mentioned wanting to keep him a little longer, but when he told her he would leave AMA she signed him out with little complaint. “I’m on the road, actually.”

_“On your way home?”_

“I went home long enough to pick up the car, and to make sure Chibs had gone to open up the garage.” He had been pleasantly surprised to see that the Scot had in fact left on time. “He forgot to feed my birds.”

 _“Did you leave him a note, so he knows to do it?”_ They had gone over the list of things Chibs was responsible for while they were gone plenty of times, but sometimes he needed to be reminded. _“I don’t really want to come home to a cage full of dead crows.”_

“I left him a note.” He left him a couple of notes, in a few different places, just so the older man got the message.

 _“If you aren’t going home, where are you going?”_ It was a great question, any other day he would be happy to answer, but not today.

“I have to grab something from Beacon Hills for the case I’m working.” That was the most information he could give without saying too much. “I’ll probably stop in to see my dad and the kids before I head back to Oregon.”

 _“That’s a long time on the road for one day.”_ He was aware of that, they had the same conversation yesterday about his dad making the drive, but he didn’t have much of a choice.

“I’ll be fine.” He’d spent longer than ten hours on the road before. “You sound kind of gloomy, you okay?”

 _“Gloomy?”_ Juice snorted at his word choice. _“I’m okay. My other siblings showed up this morning. Ray and I kind of got into it.”_

“About what?”

 _“Ancient history.”_ He grumbled. _“I sort of told him off, stood up to him, for the first time ever.”_

“Good for you.” His husband was no longer the person who let people step on him. “How did that go?”

 _“Good, I guess. It shut him up. He’s been so-so with me ever since.”_ So-so was better than being an asshole. _“I’ve always been terrified of him. I don’t even know why. He’s never laid a hand on me. There’s just always been this underlying fear that he could hurt me. That’s still there now, but it’s not as prominent.”_

“Maybe you got into a scuffle when you were kids and he knocked you down a little too hard.” Brothers fought all the time, sometimes things got out of hand.

 _“Ray and I weren’t kids together. He was in high school by the time I came along. Fee and I roughhoused but Ray was too old.”_ Something must have happened to make Juice fear his older brother. _“Something could have gone down between me and Fee, and I just projected it on to Ray.”_

“It’s possible.” Every family had its issues. “You could always talk to him about it.”

 _“Ray doesn’t talk to me. He talks_ at _me. I talk to a brick wall.”_ Communication was a problem then. _“He looks at me and see’s nothing but a fuck up.”_

“You are not a fuck up, Juice.” The older man scoffed on the other end of the line. “You have fucked up, but you are not a fuck up. Just because that is what he sees, doesn’t mean it makes you who you are.”

 _“And who I am?”_ Juice asked in a small voice. _“Beside’s a second-rate mechanic.”_

“First of all, you are a kickass mechanic, not second-rate. You’re a good man. You are a Stilinski and you're mine.” He hated saying the latter, claiming ownership, but sometimes Juice needed to hear it. “You are an amazing father.”

 _“Stop, you’re making me blush._ ” He deadpanned in a self-deprecating tone.

“I’m being fucking serious.” He didn’t just say things like that to say them. “We both have some really horrible things in our pasts. We’ve both done some awful things. But it’s in the past. We are not the same people we were. You are not the scared kid who ran away from Queens, or the haggard man who walked away from Charming. I am no longer the boy who runs with wolves, or SAMCRO’s little brother.”

_“What’s your point?”_

“We have changed. We struggled like hell to adapt when we moved to Oregon.” It took them a long time to be at peace there, to move on from their old selves. “Just because some people still see us for who we were, does not mean that is who we are. People will see what they want to see. The only thing that matters is what you see.”

 _“Jesus Christ,”_ Juice exhaled loudly. _“How long have you been waiting to use that speech?”_

“Since you told me you wanted to see your family.” He had a nagging feeling in the back of his mind that his husband would start to have doubts about what kind of man he was. “I always assumed we would be face-to-face when I said it. I thought there might be tears involved.”

 _“There are tears.”_ He confessed weakly. _“Damn it, Stiles. I’m on the back porch. I have to pass everyone in the kitchen when I go back in the house. They will see my red eyes and know I was crying.”_

“Sorry.” He wasn’t really, but he would say that he was.

 _“When are you going to be here?”_ He asked suddenly.

“If I can get what I need today, and everything keeps going as quickly as it has this morning,” He hoped Lowen could get everything done in a short amount of time. “Then maybe tomorrow night or very early the next day. Don't get your hopes up, though.”

_“You will tell me what’s been going when you get here?”_

“Yeah, but we need to be alone when I do it. I can’t say it in front of other people.” It was more of a personal preference then a matter of confidentiality. “To be honest, you already know some of it.”

 _“That makes me nervous.”_ There was good reason to be nervous. _“Should I take that to mean your case has something to do with our Charming lives?”_

“Yes, but that’s all I can say about it right now.” Juice was smart, he could figure out the rest on his own. “The club is not in danger, if you’re worried about them.”

_“I’m worried about you.”_

“This case is bringing up some really bad shit. It’s messing with my head.” That was the easiest way to explain it. “I’m going to need your help sorting through the wreckage when I see you.”

 _“I’ll straighten you out.”_ He was counting on that. _“Anything you want to bounce off me now?”_

“There could be.” He flexed his fingers on the steering wheel as he tried to put his thoughts into words. “People do bad things, really awful and unforgivable things, accidently or not, whether they mean to or not. The things they did, don’t take away from the things that have been done to them. It doesn’t make the horrible shit that happened to them any less horrible.”

_“Yeah, that’s true.”_

“What right do I have to ask someone to relive one of the most horrendous acts committed against them?” What he was going to do was the same as asking Juice to tell him, in detail, about his time with Tully, and Lin’s men. They had that conversation, it was necessary to help them move on. It had been incredibly painful and left them tiptoeing around each other in a funk for days.

 _“Stiles, you would not make anyone do that unless it was a last resort.”_ Except that it wasn’t a last resort, it would be completely avoidable if he were a better person.

“Everything could be okay without it.” He would be charged with assault. He could possibly lose his job. Best-case scenario he got off on probation, worst case he served a little jail time. “For the best possible outcome, I need to do it.”

 _“If you have to do it, you have to do it.”_ That was the thing, though, he did not _have_ to do it.

“I know.” It was what he had to do if he wanted to accomplish anything more than his freedom. “I am going to do it. I’m just going to hate myself for it.”

_“I’m sorry.”_

“It’s okay. Everything is going to be fine.” Opening up that wound would be complicated, but it would all be okay in the end. “Right?”

 _“Right.”_ Juice confirmed. _“Everything will be fine.”_

“Good.” He needed to hear that, needed to hear his husband say it. “Hey, can I tell you something without you freaking out and over thinking it?”

_“Sure.”_

“If something ever happens to me, if I had to go away or, god forbid, I died,” He flinched when he heard Juice take a sharp inhalation of breath. “I want you to know that I have plans, contingencies in place, so everyone is taken care of. So you are taken care of.”

_“What are you talking about?”_

“My dad would put in for retirement and move to Oregon to stay with you and the kids. I know you can take care of our boys, but he could help, and you two could take care of each other.” His worst fear, second only to losing his family, was the idea of leaving them all alone. “I need you to know that I would never leave you by yourself.”

 _“Where is this coming from, Stiles?”_ The worry was evident in the older man’s voice. _“Why are you saying these things? What is going on?”_

“I had a lot of time to think last night, while I was in the hospital. You know I have a bum ticker and a high risk job.” There were a number of ways he could be taken from the ones he loved. “I realized I never told you that I made plans in case something happened. I’m sorry that I’m bringing it up now. I just need you to know that I would never leave you alone.”

 _“I always knew that.”_ He claimed breathlessly. _“What’s wrong?”_

“Nothing’s wrong. It's just late night musings.”

_“Are you sure that’s all it is?”_

“Yeah.”

_“I’ll take your word for it.”_

“What are your plans for the day?” He asked, hoping to change the subject.

 _“Hanging out mostly.”_ He sounded bored by the prospect of his day already. _“I might go see Angelo.”_

“Oh?” Juice had mentioned Angelo twice before, once on purpose, to convince Stiles to attend Jax’s funeral, and another time in passing.

 _“I went by the cemetery he’s buried in on my run._ ” Grief leaked into his tone as he spoke. _“I want to go, but at the same time I don’t.”_

“The first time is always the hardest.” He had been to 580 plenty of times since he lost Jax. He had only been to his headstone once, at the funeral, he went to great lengths to avoid it when he went to visit the others. “It might be good for you to finally see him.”

_“Yeah.”_

“You don’t have to go alone. I’m sure one of your brothers or sisters would go with you.” Marisol or Felix, the two Juice seemed to get along with, would probably accompany him to their brothers grave if he asked.

 _“I want to go by myself. Pay my respects. I need to say goodbye.”_ It was not going to be any easier to say goodbye, even if Angelo had died thirteen years ago. If anything seeing the grave for the first time after so long would be like pouring salt on the wound.

“I’ll keep my phone close, so you can call if you need me.” He promised.

 _“Thank you.”_ Juice replied softly. _“I’m going to go and let you focus on the road, okay?”_

“Okay.” He wasn’t ready to hang up, but if Juice needed to go then he would. “Stay safe, yeah?”

 _“Yep.”_ He agreed. _“You too, with whatever it is you’re doing.”_

“I will.”

* * *

 

He tried to wipe away any evidence of tear tracks after he hung up the phone. He didn’t want his siblings to know how easy it still was for him to cry. They had seen it as a weakness when he was a child, and the last thing he wanted was to be weak in their eyes now.

They were all still gathered around the breakfast table when he came in. Whatever conversation they had been having came to a stuttering halt as all eyes turned on him.

“Nope. That’s not suspicious at all.” He narrowed his own gaze toward them. “What?”

“Nothing.” Roxanne shook her head dismissively.

“Right.” He didn’t believe that for a second.

“What’s wrong with your face?” Marianna scrunched her nose up at him. “You been crying, you pussy?”

“What’s it to you if I was?” There was no use denying it after she had called him out on it. It was easier to simply own up to it or face more ridicule.

“Is everything okay?” Marisol broke in, effectively cutting off whatever retort Marianna had waiting on the tip of her tongue.

“Yeah. It was a good cry, not a bad one.” It was always a bit overwhelming to realize how attuned Stiles was with him and his emotional state. How he knew what to say and when to say it. “What were you guys _not_ talking about when I came in?”

“Mom wants to know if you are coming with us to church on Sunday.” Felix said before the others could comment. “She wanted Ray to ask you.”

“To ask me if I _was_ going or if I _would_ go?” If there was anything he learned being with Stiles, it was that wording was important.

“Uh…” His younger brother glanced back at their siblings as if they held the answer. “I don’t know.”

“She wants to see you.” Roxanne told him sympathetically. “She doesn’t know if you want to see her. Church is neutral ground. You can go and she can see you with her own two eyes. You can stay for the service and leave when it’s over. You don’t have to talk to her if you don’t want to.”

“Okay.”

“Okay, you’ll go?” Marisol questioned tentatively.

“I’ll go.” He didn’t come all the way to New York to avoid his family. “Who is leading Sunday service these days? Anyone I know?”

“Father MacManus.”

“Seriously?” MacManus had been getting up there in age when Juice had last seen him. “He has to be pushing his late seventies, early eighties by now.”

“He refuses to step down or retire.” That sounded like the good father. He would die at the pulpit, leading his flock. “Mama told him you were coming to town. He wants to see you.”

“He will see me on Sunday.” MacManus had been a nice guy. He helped him through his detox, and offered him sanctuary before he left town. “Anyone else want to see my pretty face?”

“Doubtful. You burned a lot of bridges before you split, remember?” His older brother reminded him.

“You going to start in on me again, Ray?” He thought they had squashed this shit earlier.

“No, he will not.” Marisol growled in Ray’s direction. The elder looked properly cowed, snapping his jaw shut and hunkering back in his chair.

“You may hide behind our sisters, JC, but he cowers under their steely glares.” Felix snarked, earning a middle finger from the man.

“Don’t be an asshole, Feefee.” Their older sister chastised before turning to him. “That your guy on the phone?”

“Yeah.”

“How is he?” If anyone else had asked, he probably would have shrugged off the question entirely.

“Better than he was yesterday.” He responded honestly. “In some respects.”

“What happened yesterday?”

“He got hurt at work, but he’s fine.” At least he said he was okay. “He’s hoping to be here within in the next few days.”

“Is he bringing your kids?” Her eyes lit up at the thought of children running around her home.

“Fuck no.” He was still uneasy about introducing Stiles to his family’s particular brand of crazy. He was not about to subject his boys to it. “They are spending three fun weeks with grandpa.”

“I wouldn’t mind them being here, you know?” Marisol let him know. “I have the extra room. I would love to meet them.”

“Maybe next time.” If there was a next time. “This is our first trip without the kids in…ever. We didn’t really want to drag them on a cross-country trip. I’m probably going to end up skyping them at some point. You could meet them that way.”

“That will do.” She conceded. “For now.”

“Good.” She wasn’t going to get anything more than that any time soon. “I’m going to head out.”

“Out where?” Ray asked in an authoritative tone.

“Out.” He repeated and waved toward the front door. “Don’t worry, _Dad_ , I’ll be back by curfew.”

“You just got here yesterday and you keep running off.” Marianna pouted. “I feel very unloved. It’s like you don’t want to spend time with your favorite sister.”

“Favorite sister?” He chuckled while she looked offended. “I was going to spend a few hours with my favorite brother.”

“I’m right here.” Felix shot him a bright smile.

“That’s funny.” Almost as funny as Marianna being his favorite sister. “I’ll be back in a little while.”

* * *

 

It took a lot of convincing for the facility to allow him to bring in something extra. In the end, it took the psychiatrists recommendation to get them all through the door. He still wasn’t comfortable with what he was doing, but that didn’t stop him from taking that long stroll down the ominously dark hall.

The doctor did not announce his presence this time, like he had the last. The woman he came to see was sitting cross-legged on the bed, a book on her lap. There was no reaction when the door shut behind him. She willfully ignored him all together, forcing him to break the silence.

“Hi, Gemma.”

“Who’s dead now?” She said in lieu of a proper hello.

“No one.” He moved further into the room, setting the cage he was holding onto the dresser.

“What is that?” She lifted her glance to spy what he had brought.

“Cockatiel.” It was white and blue, like the one she owned a long time ago. “I’ll bring you a nicer cage, a bigger one, in a few weeks. This one should be okay for now. The nurses will make sure you have food for him.”

“He’s for me?” She eyed the bird warily. “Why?”

“I need your help. I thought having company would make you more agreeable.” He wasn’t going to lie to her. She could see right through him anyway. “He’s yours. I’m not going to take him away if you choose not to help.”

“Must be bad if you are coming to me.” She pushed the book she’d been reading off the side as she climbed off the bed. She walked slowly toward the dresser, gaze locked on her new friend. “Is the big cage from my house in storage? Will you bring it for him?”

“No, it’s at my house. I can buy you one like it.” She raised a questioning brow at him. “Nero gave me the two love birds from Diosa. They died a few years ago. I have African crows now.”

“African crows, huh?” Her lips turned up in a knowing grin. “How do the boys like them?”

“They don’t.” The crows scared Abel and Thomas, so he kept them in the master bedroom, or took them to the garage the days he worked there.

“You still wear your wedding ring.” She mentioned casually, as if they had been discussing jewelry or spouses, not birds. “Your dad was still wearing his the last time I saw him.”

“So?”

“He always has that widowed look to him, like a piece of him is perpetually stuck in the grieving process.” It was a true enough description of his father, though it sounded odd coming from her. “You don’t have that look.”

“I could have remarried.” And worn the same ring? Yeah, okay.

“If there is one thing I know about you Stilinski’s, it is that you only ever truly love one person in a lifetime.” Stiles fiddled with his wedding ring when the words left her mouth. He twisted it around his finger, a habit he developed to quell his anxiety. “For your grandpa Henry it was your grandma Blythe, although she didn’t feel the same. For your father it was Claudia. For you it’s Juice. You didn’t remarry and you aren’t carrying the weight of a widow. You are a happily married man.”

“You’re right. He’s alive.” He wouldn’t explain the how or the why. “Do you think that gives you some kind of leverage over me?”

“I don’t have anyone to tell, darling.” It was hard to use it against him if she had no one to threaten him with.

“Can we talk about why I’m here?”

“I think I know why you’re here.” He found that highly unlikely but kept his mouth shut. “You have this incredibly haunted look on your face. The kind of look that only shows itself when you’ve learned something awful about your family.”

“I didn’t…” He did not learn it. He had known about it for years.

“I always thought you would come to me when you started asking questions about it. I wasn’t sure if your father would tell you, or how much of that truth he would give you.” He tilted his head in confusion as she reached out to touch his shoulder. “Either way, I knew you would look deeper, that you would find the link.”

“What are you talking about?” He knew what he was there for and it was nowhere near wherever she was headed with this conversation. “Why do you think I came to you?”

“To learn the truth about what happened to Henry.” That did nothing but perplex him further. “You aren’t here about your grandfather, are you?”

“No, I am not. I would be happy to pick your brain about that another time.” He had no clue why she would think he had any knowledge about his grandfathers death, or why he would go to her for answers, but he didn’t have it in him to veer off that road to the past today. “If I ever look into it, I’ll be sure to come see you. That was your plan, right?”

“Possibly.” Yeah, she only brought it up to sink a hook into him. It was almost a guarantee that he would be back. “I’m right about that haunted look, though. It can only be about family.”

“I never wanted to have to do this.” He never imagined he would have to make her relieve that trauma. “I need you to make a statement. I need to record you telling me…”

“What is this about, Stiles?”

“Ethan Zobelle has resurfaced.” He blurted out like an idiot. He had not meant to be so blunt about it. “I’m sorry.”

“What statement could you possibly need from me?” She turned away, eyes finding the bird once more. “The ATF has everything.”

“The ATF has a statement about Polly Zobelle’s murder.” It connected Polly more than her father. “I need a statement where you link Ethan Zobelle to what happened to you.”

“I’m dead, remember?” That was a good point. Gemma Teller Morrow was officially dead. The dead don’t make statements. “Nothing I give you would be worth a damn.”

“Maybe you made a recording for Jax and Clay to find, in case something happened to you before you had a chance to tell them.” It was highly probable. It had been a volatile time in Charming for SAMCRO and those close to them. “Maybe I found it when I was packing up your things. I held onto it all these years so that I could use it in the event that Zobelle returned. What do you think?”

“I think you are most definitely my child.” She quipped halfheartedly. “Why is it so important to you that I make this recording or give you a statement?”

“He deserves to pay for what he had done to you. He shouldn’t get to walk away like it never happened.” He bit down hard on his bottom lip while he gathered his thoughts. “He needs to be held accountable. I am going to make sure that he is.”

“You want to hurt this guy.” She deduced, finally looking up from the cage.

“I already did.”

He took the backpack off his shoulder and unzipped the pocket. He removed his tablet from the pouch and booted it up. He took a moment to load the pictures he had Lowen send him earlier in the day. They were taken at the hospital. They showed every bruise, cut, and wound Ethan Zobelle received from him.

“You did this?” She whispered, glance caught on Ethan’s battered face, barely recognizable after the beating he had taken. “It’s why your hand is in a cast.”

“Yes.” He had broken it by pounding it repeatedly against Zobelle’s flesh and bone. “He’s on a ventilator now.”

“Did he contact you or did you go looking for him?” She asked as she sifted through the photographs.

“The feds called me. They wanted me to interview him.” It was still so ridiculous, when he thought about it. It felt almost like a bad dream that he couldn’t wake up from. “I didn’t know. They didn’t tell me who he was until I was already in a room with him.”

“I never told you what actually happened to me or that he was a part of it.” She dropped his tablet onto the dresser and put her hands on her hips. “What exactly did Jax tell you?”

“That it happened. That the men who did it were dead, but the man that was behind it, Zobelle, got away.” Abel’s kidnapping took priority over Zobelle. “He told me when they got back from Belfast, before they went inside.”

“You were fifteen years old.” She muttered as if his age meant anything. “He should not have put that in your head.”

“He wanted me to know, so that I could protect you and Tara, if Zobelle came back.” He wanted Stiles to look after their family while he was away, to make sure they were safe. “I’m sorry that I’m asking you to do this, Gemma.”

“Giving a beat down to an FBI informant comes with consequences.” She acknowledged. “What are they charging you with?”

“Attempted murder. The lawyer is getting it dropped to assault.” Gemma’s original statement and the video of the debriefing would help with that. “If you will give this to me, I can get them dropped completely. Extreme emotional distress. And we can try to file charges on him for what he did to you.”

“If I give you my statement, you won’t be charged?”

“I know I’m being selfish asking you for this.” Asking Gemma to do this was more about his own freedom than anything else. It was doubtful that Zobelle would ever be charged, no matter how much evidence he found. “You don’t have to do it.”

“Of course I will do it.” The ‘why the hell wouldn’t I’ was implied. “If you got locked up, who would take care of my grandkids? Juice?”

“Yes.” Juice was fully capable of raising those boys. However, from the look of pure disbelief on Gemma’s face, she didn’t have the same faith in his husband. “He’s a good dad. He could do it, with or without me.”

“Let’s not test that theory.” She suggested, moving away from the dresser to sit in the rocking chair by the window.

“It’s unlikely that I’m facing jail time. If that is the only reason you want to do this for me – “

“Why are you trying to talk me out of the one thing you came here for?”

“I want you to have the facts so that you can say no, if you want to.” He was not going to force her to do this if she didn’t feel like she could. “I’ve seen firsthand how hard and painful it is to go back to that place, to talk about it.”

“I didn’t realize it had been that bad for him.” It was almost frightening how quickly her mind went to Juice, to the possibility of what he had gone through. “How is he dealing with the damage?”

“I didn’t come here to talk about him or what was done to him.” It was not his place to tell her. “I just wanted you to know that I understand how difficult this will be. You can say no.”

“I’m going to want something in return.”

“I thought you might.” He wasn’t naïve enough to believe the bird would be enough for her. “I have recent pictures of Abel and Thomas that you can keep.”

“Can I have them now?”

“Sure.” If he was going to make her relieve a horrible moment from her past, then she might as well having something nice to look at while she did it.

He rummaged through his bag until he found the bundle of photographs and handed them over to her. He had carefully sorted through the box of doubles he had at home that morning. He chose the best ones, the ones he knew she would like.

“Christ, he looks like Jax.” She studied the first one, Abel’s most recent school picture from the previous year. “Tell me what he likes to do.”

“Read.” His oldest nephew was a bit of a bookworm. “He’s reading at an eighth grade level, it impresses his teachers.”

“And Thomas?” She stumbled across a picture of the younger boy in a sports uniform.

“Baseball and soccer.” He was an active kid who loved the outdoors. “I’m the assistant coach for his little league baseball team. Juice does the same for the soccer team.”

“They seem happy.” They were smiling in every single photo he had given her.

“They are.” He and Juice had made damn sure that those boys grew up in a happy home and in a safe environment.

“Is that who they are with now? Daddy Juice?”

“ _Uncle_ Juice.” He corrected, because, no, the boys, though legally their sons, did not call them dad or papa. “No, they’re with my dad. Juice is in Queens. He’s visiting his other family for a few weeks. It is where I am supposed to be right now.

“He’s there alone?” She let the pictures fall to her lap as she tensed her chair, pinning him with a look of alarm. “You let him go there alone? Are you out of your goddamn mind?”

“I didn’t have a choice – “

“I cannot believe you would let him near those people by himself.” Those people were Juice’s birth family. He had no clue why Gemma was so outraged at the thought of him reuniting with them. “You know what they did to him.”

“No, I don’t.” Juice’s past was a largely undiscussed topic. He knew random tidbits, but not much more. “And neither do you.”

“I remember what he was like when he showed up in Charming. He was half dead, skittish as hell, and so willingly to do _anything_ to please someone.” He remembered that too. He had been there to witness those first few months of Juice’s time in the clubhouse. “Do you know how long it took to make him believe no one was going to hurt him? That he was safe with us? A couple of days with those people will destroy him. They will break his heart.”

“I can protect his heart.” He knew how to take care of his family, of his husband. “The sooner I get this FBI crap taken care of, the sooner I can be there with him.”

“Do you have something to record with?”

“I have an old tape recorder.” It was a bit more her style than a video camera or cellphone. “You don’t have to do this, Gemma.”

“It’s ancient history, baby. It can’t hurt me anymore.” He really wanted to believe that, for it to be true. “Let’s do this.”

He removed the recorder from his backpack as he moved toward her. He pressed the red button and set it down on the window sill. He let himself sink to the floor next to her chair, leaning his back against the wall and drawing his knees to his chest, rather than sitting on the bed.

“The night of Bobby’s party, I didn’t get into a car accident driving home. I was attacked.” She started and there was so much strength in her voice that Stiles almost did believe, for a second, that it wouldn’t cause her any more emotional turmoil to speak about it. “I was at a stop sign, and a minivan came up behind me. This woman got out, screaming her head off…”

He could only listen as she described how the woman, Polly Zobelle, had lured her out of the car. She prayed on Gemma’s maternal instincts, told her a baby was choking, but there was only a doll in the car seat. She had used Gemma’s moment of shock to hit her over the head with a blackjack.

“When I woke up, I was handcuffed to the chain link at the utility house, out by the access road. There were three men. They had masks on.” Her voice began to waver as she went on. “The one who spoke, I knew his voice and the tat on his throat. His name was Weston. He had shown up at the clubhouse that night with his boss, Ethan Zobelle. He told me to deliver a message to you.”

She spoke as if she was talking to Jax or Clay, or to the club itself, but kept her eyes locked with his the whole time. He reached out cautiously, letting his hands linger in the air so she could make the decision on whether she could be touched or not. She took them in hers, clutching them tightly in her grasp, as if they were her only lifeline.

“Stop associating with color.” That was not the real message, not entirely, but he wasn’t going to interrupt her to ask about it, though he was sure it had something to do with the clubs illegal activities. “He said, if I didn’t tell you then they would find me and do it again.”

She let out a shuddering breath and clenched her eyes shut, dread, and sorrow marring her features. He knew this part, that look, all too well. It was when everything went from bad to worse.

“They raped me. All three of them. More than once.” He leaned toward her, resting his head against her knee, offering her comfort while taking some of his own. “I knew the damage it would cause my family, all of you, if I told the truth. That is why I lied and said it was an accident.”

She reached over to turn off the recorder when she was through speaking. She dropped her grip on his hands, moved one to his chin, lifting it so he would meet her gaze. She brushed her fingers of her free hand gently through his hair, while she issued him an order.

“You do not tell the club that Zobelle is back. Do you understand me?” He shook his head to show her that, no, he didn’t see why that had to be a secret, why she wanted him to keep the others in the dark. “They will kill him. If he ends up dead so soon after you gave him a beat down, then all eyes turn to you, sweetheart.”

After the damage he had dealt Zobelle, he would become the number one suspect.

“That history has to stay buried, baby.”

* * *

 

ANGELO ANTONIO ORTIZ

1979 – 2006

The name and date stood out so prominently on the grey stone. It was a sight he wished he didn’t have to see. He had put off this moment for a very long time, and wished he could have put it off forever.

He always thought he might feel grief, sadness, and a little anger when he finally came here. He felt all of those things, but it was shame that outweighed everything else. Guilt and shame sat heavily in his heart, where they would live for eternity.

“You knew why Marisol sent me away, didn’t you? She didn’t know, not really, but you did.” If there was anyone who could have known, without being a witness to it, it would have been Angelo.

There were three people in the world who ever really saw him. Angelo, Chibs, and Stiles, were the only ones that could see his sins written on his face. That could see the scars that didn’t leave physical marks. They could reach into his soul and pull out every demon that lay dormant there. They never used any of what they saw against him. They never let it change their feelings for him. That was why he trusted them above all others.

“You should have hated me for what did, for what I took from you. The others would if they knew.” There would be no forgiveness from his other siblings if they knew the truth. “I didn’t know what I was doing, Ang. I just reacted. I didn’t mean to hurt him. I swear, I didn’t mean it.”

At the time, he thought he had been doing the right thing. He was protecting his family. It was ingrained in him, by his stepfather, to protect his family at any and all costs. That was what he had done. He protected his family. He just did not understand the cost until it was too late.

“I didn’t mean to kill him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [TUMBLR](http://www.stilinski-ortiz.tumblr.com/)  
> [Youtube](https://www.youtube.com/user/SandM1827/)  
>  Thank you for all the comments and kudos, they are greatly appreciated.


	3. I'm Gonna Take My Bow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd.  
> Chapter title comes from Cage on the Ground by Flyleaf.  
> Warnings: Mentions of past rape/non-con.  
> Gifset: [They All Crossed That Line](http://stilinski-ortiz.tumblr.com/post/118863531565/son-shine-they-all-crossed-that-line-crossed).

It was late in the afternoon when Stiles arrived at his father’s house. It had been three years since he had seen it in person. It was easier to stay away, to have his dad come to him, rather than dragging Juice and the boys on a five-hour trip. Truth be told, staying away from Beacon Hills was the right thing to do, it no longer felt like home.

When he climbed out of the car, he was hit by the sound of a child’s wailing, coming from beyond the front door. His feet were moving before he could even fully register what was happening. He slammed through the door, cursing his father for leaving it unlocked as he went. He let a little boy's cries lead him to the living room.

“I need you to calm down and tell me what happened.” His dad was crouched in front of Thomas, who didn’t seem the least bit inclined to follow that advice.

“I want uncles.” The boy blubbered out, his breath hitching.

“I’m right here, chipmunk.” He announced his presence to his father and nephew.

Thomas whipped his head in Stiles direction before making a run at him and launching himself into his arms. He caught him on instinct, stumbling back a few steps. His nephew didn’t notice, he simply buried his head in Stiles shoulder, sobbing loudly.

“What happened to you?” His dad asked worriedly as he took in his features, the broken hand, and bruised eye.

“No, no.” He shook his head. “I dad him, and then you can dad me.”

“Fine.” The older man agreed, but did not look happy about it. “You should look at his face. I don’t know what happened. I was in the kitchen starting dinner when I heard him scream. I came in, he was clutching his nose, and Abel was running up the stairs.”

“Okay. I’ll figure out what’s going on.”

He sat down on the couch with Thomas in his lap. As gently as he could, he pried the boy’s hands away from his face and cringe at the sight that greeted him. Tears were pouring from his eyes and blood was flowing from his nose.

“Hurts.” Thomas pouted pitifully.

“What happened to you, chipmunk?” He could deduce the answer on his own, who did it at least, but that left out the why.

“Abel hit me. He hurt my nose.”

“I can see that.” He lifted his nephews chin to inspect the wound.

“Here, put this on it.” His dad handed him an ice pack fresh from the freezer.

“It’s going to hurt at first, but then it will go numb and bring down the swelling.” He promised as he helped Thomas place the pack over his nose. “Why did your brother hit you?”

“I don’t know.” Right, well, he didn’t need to be a werewolf to hear that lie.

“Abel John Teller Stilinski, get your butt down here right now!” It came out harsher than he intended, especially when he didn’t have the full story, but violence was unacceptable in their family.

The older boy made his way down the stairs a few minutes later. He looked guilty and angry, there were tears drying on his face. He stopped on the bottom step, arms wrapped around his middle, and eyes locked on the floor.

“Come here, love.” He requested softly, patting an unoccupied cushion on the sofa.

“Don’t want to.” He retorted petulantly.

“Please, come here.” Everything would go smoother if everyone would cooperate.

“Fine.” Abel gave him and Thomas wide berth as he joined them on the couch.

“Would you please tell me why you and your brother were fighting?” He couldn’t just come out and accuse the boy of hitting his brother, even if that is what went down.

“He stole my stuff.”

“I was just looking at it!” Thomas argued loudly. “I forgot to put it back. I didn’t steal it!”

“It was in my room at home!” Abel yelled. “You found it and you took it! It’s mine!”

“I just wanted to look at it!”

“It’s not yours! Grandma gave it to me!” If the boys didn’t have his attention before they sure as shit did now. “It’s mine!”

“Enough!” He broke through the kids bickering. “What was taken from your room, Abel?”

“It’s mine.” The boy repeated, hands reaching for his pockets where the item was more than likely hidden. “Grandma gave it to me.”

“We don’t have a grandma!” Thomas shouted.

“Yes we do, she’s just dead!” Abel exclaimed bluntly. “She’s dead like Mommy and Daddy!”

“Abel! You cannot just…say it like that.” He chastised the boy. “Abel, just tell me what Grandma gave you.”

“She said it was my grandpa John’s.” He pulled a piece of jewelry from his pocket and dropped it into Stiles waiting palm. “Was it yours, Grandpa?”

“No. She meant your other grandpa John, your dad’s dad.” His father answered as Stiles studied the SONS ring. “Did Grandma give that to you when you stayed with me when your brother was a baby, or when you were still living with daddy?”

“When she came here to say goodbye.” The older boy admitted. “She said I should wear it when I join the club.”

“What club?” Thomas questioned innocently.

Stiles smacked his head back against the couch, covering his face with one hand. He dug his fingers into the bruise around his eye, letting the pain over power the anger that was beginning to boil in his veins.

“What club, Uncle?” His youngest nephew asked again, oblivious to the tension surrounding him.

“It doesn’t matter, Thomas. We can talk about the club when uncle Juice and I get back from our trip.” He wanted to shut down any thoughts or ideas about the club immediately, but that would only pique the kids interest in it. “We need to talk about you two right now.”

“I didn’t do anything wrong.” Thomas claimed, causing Stiles to roll his eyes. “He hit me!”

“You took my stuff!” Abel shot back.

“Quiet!” Stiles snapped, dropping his hand away from his face. “You both did bad things.”

“Did not!”

“Do not interrupt me.” He did not have the patience for this crap today. “Thomas, we do not snoop through peoples things or take what doesn’t belong to us, accidentally or not. Apologize to your brother.”

“But –“

“Apologize.”

“I’m sorry, Abel.”

“Abel, we absolutely do not hit people. We talked about this when you got in trouble at school.” He reminded the oldest of the time he hit another student with a metal lunch box. “I don’t care why you did it. We do not hit people. Apologize to your brother.”

“I’m sorry, Tommy.”

“Hug it out.” He ordered, earning matching looks of indignation. “It wasn’t a suggestion, boys.”

They grudgingly complied with his request, wrapping their arms around each other. It loosened some of the aggravation that had set inside of him to see his kids be affectionate with one another.

“Can I have my ring back now, Uncle?” Abel asked as he broke apart from his brother.

“I could hold onto it for you, until we go back home. I don’t want you to lose it here at grandpas.” He didn’t want to give it back at all, knowing exactly why Gemma had given it to him, but he was well aware of what his nephews reaction would be to that. “Would that be okay? I promise I will give it back when we get home.”

“Okay.” His eyes flickered from the ring then up to Stiles superstitiously, as if he wasn’t sure if Stiles was telling the truth or not. “You can keep it for me.”

“Did Grandma leave anything for me?” Thomas inquired excitedly.

“Of course.” She hadn’t, but he was confident he could find something in storage. Preferably something non-SAMCRO related. “I was waiting until you got a little older to give it to you.”

“Can I have it when we get home?”

“Sure.” The kid would forget asking in a week, which would buy Stiles more time to find something. “Go wash that blood off your nose before it dries. Abel will help you.”

“Okay.” Thomas hopped off his lap and dutifully followed his older brother down the hall.

Stiles took the SONS ring from the palm of his hand and slid it over one of his fingers, marveling at how well it fit. It was almost as if it was made to sit there, but should not be there. It would poison his head and his heart if worn too long.

“Don’t do that.” His father’s voice called to him. “It doesn’t belong on your finger or Abel’s.”

“I know.” He didn’t make a move to take it off, choosing to leave it where it sat. “It’s just a ring, Dad.”

“No, it’s not.” He sounded disappointed with him. “What do you plan on telling Thomas about the club?”

“I don’t know.” He thought he had a few more years before he was forced to open that wound.

“You are going to have to tell him some of the truth.” That was an option. He had to tell the boy everything or nothing, possibly something in between. “You will have to reveal some awful family history.”

“There’s a lot of that going around.” He muttered under his breath.

“Does your black eye and broken hand have anything to do with Rafael telling me you broke his nose?” His father asked, getting down to what he actually wanted to know.

“Yes.” That was about all he was going say on the subject. “I really need to get back on the road. I only stopped by to check in on you and the boys.”

“You have that look again.” The older man said sadly.

“What look?” He questioned as he stood up from the couch.

“The same one you had when you were trying to help Tara get the boys out of Charming. The same one you wore when you were trying to save Juice from the club.” He didn’t realize he had a certain look during those times. “You knew you were doing the right thing, but it was killing you because you were hurting someone else you loved.”

“It’s different this time.” What he was doing now was nowhere near the same thing. “I'm saving myself, not anyone else.”

“Saving yourself from what?”

“I don’t know, Dad.” There were several things he was saving himself from, like a corrupt system, and the unwavering need to make things right no matter the consequences. “When I figure it out I will let you know.”

“No, you won’t.” His father looked so heartbroken for reasons he did not understand. “You’ll just go on like you have been, acting like nothing ever happened. The same way you’ve been doing it the last five years.”

“What am I supposedly brushing under the rug here?” What did he act like never happened? If it had to do with his injuries, then he hated to tell his dad that he was very much aware those happened. He couldn’t exactly act as if he never received those when they were still visible.

“Everything.” Well, that cleared things up.

“What?”

“Your default is to deflect and turn the attention to someone else, so you don’t have to talk about it.” He couldn’t deny that without lying.

“Talk about what?” He could talk for hours about anything.

“Everything.”

“Oh my god!” He threw his hands in the air to visualize his frustration. “That is very specific, Dad, thank you! If this is about Rafael and the crap that went down with him, then I can’t talk about it, because it’s an open case.”

“You won’t talk about it when it’s closed.” That wasn’t completely true. “That is what this is about.”

“I am so fucking confused.”

“You are confused because you don’t see it, Stiles.” Apparently he was deaf as well, because he did not hear what his father was trying to say either. “You don’t see how you act.”

“How do I act?”

“Like nothing affects you. It’s like you believe that nothing that has happened or could happen holds any bearing on your emotional well-being.”

“My emotional well-being is fine.” Though he had a feeling it would take a nosedive into the pits of hell before this conversation was through.

“No, it’s not.”

“Yes, it is.” He would know, it was _his_ emotional state.

“I’m worried about you.” Yeah, that part was obvious. “I have been for a long time. I’ve tried talking to you about it before, but you find a way to get out of the conversation.”

“So you think it’s a great idea to do it now?”

“Well, you are here, Juice is in Queens, and the kids are busy.” In his dads mind there was no escape for him, so he had to stay and talk. “So, yes, we are doing this now.”

“Fine.” He didn’t have much choice but to listen. “You have something you’ve wanted to say to me, go ahead and say it.”

“I want you to stop hiding.” To the best of his knowledge, he wasn’t hiding from anything or anyone. “At least from me.”

“I’m not hiding –“

“That unaffected by everything, happy-go-lucky façade, Stiles. I don’t want to see it.” He ducked his head as his father spoke. “You cannot wear it forever. Hiding it all away puts stress on you and on your heart – “

“My heart is fine.” Actually, he had paperwork from the doctor showing that it was in less than ideal condition, but his dad didn't know about that yet.

“It’s not, and adding more stress is only going to make it worse.” He hated that he put that worried expression on his father’s face. “And this perfect family thing you and Juice have going, is not helping either of you.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that eventually this happy home act isn’t going to work anymore. It’s not going to be enough.” He flinched before he could really think about why his father was saying it and why it hurt to hear. “I know you and Juice are happy together, but you both put on these masks for the kids. You play happy and well-adjusted adults. You try to be the perfect family. You do it for the boys’ sake, because you want to give them the apple pie life that Tara wanted for them.”

“It’s part of being a parent.” All parents put on an act for their children. They wanted their kids to believe the world was full of puppies and rainbows, to believe in fairytales, because eventually they would learn the truth and see the darkness that awaited them in the real world. “You did it for me after mom died.”

“The difference is, I wanted the apple pie life. You and Juice do not. It is the life you want for Abel and Thomas, not for yourselves.” Again, doing things for the sake of your children was part of being a parent. “Having two kids, living in a suburban neighborhood, coaching little league, going to school functions, and the damn farmers market. It’s not exactly the life you had your heart set on when you were a kid.”

“We grow up. We make adjustments to our plans. We realize that what those dependent on us _need_ outweighs what we _want_.” The truth was, the majority of what he had he never wanted. If someone had asked him in high school what he wanted out of life, he would have painted a vastly different picture than the life he was currently living.

Having children was never part of his plan. He loved kids, his nephews, but he never wanted to be responsible for them, or to have children of his own. He didn’t regret taking Abel and Thomas in, or adopting them, but in a perfect world he would have been more than happy playing uncle, and visiting them whenever he had the chance. That was the same perfect world where Jax and Tara were both alive and playing happy family.

Being a beat cop in some random Oregon town was a far cry from his original career goal. He had hopes of joining the FBI or the Marshal’s service. He wanted something that kept him in the action and on the move.

Juice is the one thing that overlapped the life he dreamed of and the one he had. He had wanted Juice to be his for longer than he would ever admit. His husband would be happy, truly happy, in that dream world. He would still have his patch and the family that came with it, because that was Juice’s dream, his perfect world. Things wouldn’t be the same between them, they wouldn’t be as close as they are now, as reliant on each other. Juice would be in Charming and Stiles would be wherever he was, but they would still love each other. They would still belong to each other in any world they lived in.

“Juice and I aren’t stupid. We know that the life we have now isn’t….” They both felt trapped in aspects of their lives. Neither of them were built to be stuck in one place doing the nine-to-five thing. “We have plans for when the kids are out of high school. We are going to be free.”

“That is a long way away, son.” They had at least thirteen years before Thomas graduated high school and went off to college. They counted the days off on a calendar. “I know you can do it. That together, the two of you can keep this up, but that can only happen if you have an outlet to help you.”

“We both have therapists.” Everyone in his house was in a form of counseling except Thomas. “We talk to each other.”

“I want you to talk to me.” His father confessed. “You don’t talk to me or your friends anymore.”

“I talk to you.” They talked three times a week on the phone and they texted every day.

“Yeah, about the kids or Juice. You never tell me about you.” He didn’t have much to say about himself. “I’m glad that you can talk to a counselor and your husband, but you shut everyone else out. You shut me out. I just want to know why.”

“Everyone has this idea of how I am supposed to act, or who I'm supposed to be. The minute I don’t act within the parameters they have set, I’m called a miserable prick or a douchebag, or any other number of things that aren’t nice.” He had tried talking to his friends. None of them could fathom why he was no longer the person he used to be. “I put so much energy into that happy home act for the kids, that I don’t have any left to put on a show for everyone else. And you know what? I shouldn't have to put on an act for my _friends_. So I don’t. I don't talk to the pack because they do not want to hear me. They want to hear the Stiles they knew in high school. They don’t like the person I am now.”

“I am not the pack, Stiles. I am your father.” There were tears glistening in his dad’s eyes as he grabbed a hold of his shoulders to anchor him in place, as if he was preparing to leave and needed to be stopped. “I do not want an act. I want to see and hear you.”

“I don’t want you to.” He whispered with shame. “I let Juice see me, let him hear me, because we are the same. He can see right through my bullshit, the same way I can see through his.”

“Why don’t want you me to see?”

“I don’t want you to see how tired and shattered I am. I’m not the same as I was, Dad. I can’t be that person I was before I lost Jax, the person I was before I learned all the horrible things he did. I’ve tried to be the person I used to be for you and the pack but it’s still wrong.” He could never get it right. The nogitsune played him better than he could.

“Stiles – “

“That’s not all of me though, Dad. I am happy. I am. With those kids and Juice, I’m happy.” He honestly did not know how long he would have lasted without them. “But the weight of everything that happened in Charming, of Jax’s sins, is always there. It is in my heart and it is in my head. I don’t want you to see me in those moments when I can’t help but let it bring me down.”

“I want you to listen to me very carefully. I am your father. It is my job to help you carry that weight.” Stiles first instinct was to argue, to tell his dad that he was an adult now and had to do it on his own, but the older man had already thought of that. “It does not matter if you are eight years old or eighty. I will always help you when you need me to and even when you think you don’t. As long as I am still breathing I will take care of you.”

“We take care of each other.” He said it before, when his father was lying in a hospital bed with a bullet wound, and it meant just as much now as it did then.

“People who take care of each other tell each other things – “

“I can’t tell you anything about what is going on with me right now. When the case is closed, I will tell you everything. I want to.” He wanted them to sit down, just the two of them, and tell his father every sordid detail just so he didn’t have to be the only one who knew. He just did not have the time to do that today. “I really do have to go. I’m not even supposed to be in California.”

“Christ, kid, what have you gotten yourself into?” It was the usual amount of worry and exasperation, rather than accusation, lacing his father’s tone.

“The McCall’s got me into it.” If Rafael hadn’t called him, he wouldn’t be in the position he found himself in now. “They got me into it, but I am getting myself out.”

“Be careful.”

“Always.”

* * *

 

Dinner with his family was strained in a way he recognized from when he was a teenager. He kept his mouth shut throughout the meal. He only spoke when spoken to, but stayed pretty tightlipped otherwise. He knew his behavior irritated some and troubled others, but he couldn’t bring himself to act any differently.

To break the tension, Roxanne suggested they all sit down and watch a movie together. That led to Juice somehow being smushed between Felix and Marianna on the loveseat, much like he had when they were kids. It was uncomfortable and a little suffocating, but familiar in a way that made him slightly nostalgic.

Marisol chose some 90s prison flick, which he should have vetoed, but if he had his siblings might suspect something and he didn't want that. He dozed off about twenty minutes in, falling asleep with his head resting on his sister’s shoulder, and with his grown ass little brother practically sitting on his lap. How he woke up was strikingly different.

He came to with his breath caught in his throat, feeling as if he’d been sucker punched, and visions of a nightmare playing behind his eyelids. He was no longer sitting, instead being held on his feet by strong arms around his middle. A feeling of panic seized in his chest as memories of being pinned down joined his nightmare and had him struggling against his captor.

“You're all right. Calm down.” A masculine voice urged. “Calm yourself.”

“Let me go!” He tried to pull away, to use the strength of his wolf, but it to was paralyzed by fear. “Let go of me!”

“Not until you are calm.” The man told him. He sounded so familiar and Juice had no doubts that he would recognize the face if he opened his eyes, but he wasn’t strong enough to do that. He wasn’t ready to see who was going to hurt him.

“Should we call his old man?” It was a woman who spoke this time, voice full of fear and concern.

“Do you have his number?”

“I have JC’s phone.”

“Give it to me.” The angry man ordered and one hand left Juice’s waist to grab for the device. “What’s the guy’s name?”

“Stiles.”

“Let go of me!” He took advantage of his attacker’s distraction, sending his elbow backward and attempting to run. He must have anticipated the move if the way he grabbed Juice by the belt and yanked him back told him anything.

“Goddamn it, Juan Carlos!” The name, the statement itself, seemed to shock something inside of him. All of the sudden he was painfully aware of where he was and who had him.

“Ray?” He had to be sure. He had to know before he opened his eyes.

“Yeah, little brother, it’s me.” The usually menacing man’s voice took a gentler tone. “Hello? No. This is his brother.”

“Let me go, Ray, please.” He clawed uselessly at his brother’s arm with his human nails. “Ray, please, let me go. I’ll be good, okay? I promise. I'll be good. Just let me go.”

“Juan Carlos, hey,” His older brother maneuvered them until they were face-to-face, making him open his eyes for the first time since he had woken up. “Take the phone. There is someone who wants to talk to you. It’s Stiles.”

“Stiles?” He scrambled hopefully for the phone, getting it to his ear as quickly as he could. “Stiles?”

 _“I’m here, baby.”_ His husband’s worried tone sounded from the other end of the line. _“I’m here. You’re okay. You are safe.”_

“Safe.” He repeated the word like a mantra and found himself relaxing in his brother’s arms.

 _“You are here with me. Be here with me.”_ He came back to himself more and more as he fully registered the words in his mind. _  
_

“You're not here.” He pointed out weakly.

 _“Semantics.”_ Stiles dismissed his protest. _“I am in your ear. That has to do for now.”_

“Okay.” It would have to do. Stiles could not just magic himself to his side. “Hold on, okay?”

_“Yeah.”_

“Will you let me go, please?” He asked his brother once more. “I’m awake now. I want to talk to Stiles by myself.”

“Alright.” Ray cautiously removed his hands from Juice’s body and took a step back.

He made a jerking motion toward the stairs before bolting up them like a child. He locked himself in the guest room Marisol had designated as his. He crawled into bed fully clothed and buried himself beneath the covers before he said another word.

“Fuck…” He sighed into the phone. “Of course that would fucking happen.”

 _“What would happen?”_ Stiles questioned.

“A nightmare. It’s my own fault.” He was so stupid. “I should have gone to bed instead of watching some dumb movie.”

_“What was it that triggered you?”_

“Cell doors slamming.” The guards taunting the inmates in the film didn’t help. “Pathetic, right?”

 _“No.”_ His husband said forcefully. _“There is nothing pathetic or weak about it, honey.”_

“It’s been five years.” He wanted to be over it, to forget it ever happened.

 _“It doesn’t matter.”_ The younger man told him. _“It’s been longer than that since the nogitsune and there are still some mornings I wake up and see blood all over my hands. Is that pathetic?”_

“Of course not.” There were nights Stiles woke up screaming, but he never saw his husband as weak for it. “Okay, I can see where you are going with this.”

 _“Good, then I don’t actually have to go there.”_ He sounded relieved to be let off the hook. _“You can’t control your nightmares, when you have them, what they are about, or how bad they are.”_

“Everyone saw it.” God only knows what happened, what his body had done on its own volition before he fully woke up. “I’m going to have to explain myself in the morning.”

 _“No, you won’t.”_ Stiles assured him. _“You only tell them what you want them to know. You do not owe anyone an explanation. If they ask what happened, tell them you had a bad dream and drop it.”_

“It’s not as easy as you seem to think it is.” Marisol only had to give him a look and he would blurt it all out whether he meant to or not.

 _“If they push you for answers just walk away. Go for a walk to get your head on straight. They will see that you don’t want to talk about it and they will stop asking.”_ That was a best-case scenario. The problem was his family didn’t really let things go. _“Do not do anything you don’t want to do.”_

“Silent treatment or walk away, I got it.” He would try those methods, but he doubted they would work as long-term solutions. “Where are you?”

 _“I’m almost home, about five minutes away.”_ He had that road weary tone, as if he’d been on it for hours, and he obviously had been. _“I’m going to try and crash out when I get there. I have a meeting bright and early in the morning.”_

“The sleeping meds are in the drawer.” By sleeping meds, he meant weed. It was the only thing that would help Stiles unwind enough to sleep.

_“I get piss tested for work, remember?”_

“Yeah, I remember.” It was a downside of being a cop. “You sound like shit.”

 _“That fits, I guess, I feel like shit.”_ Stiles admitted. _“It has been a very long day.”_

“It’ll be over soon.” It would be over as soon as Stiles head hit his pillow. “Then you get to start all over again in the morning.”

 _“Oh, joy.”_ He drawled sarcastically. _“I have to be up at five to shower and get ready. I have to be in Portland by eight.”_

“They made a mistake setting the meeting that early.” Stiles may have been the first one up in the morning, but he was by no means a morning person. He could be an asshole in the wrong setting so early in the day. “They are in for a treat. A very sour treat.”

 _“I set the time.”_ Things must be worse than he thought if his husband was willingly getting up at ass o’clock in the morning. _“I’ve got my smoking gun, now I just need to finish this shit.”_

“Will it be that simple?”

 _“Nothing about this has been simple.”_ The younger man muttered. _“I will tell you one thing, though, McCall got me into this, and you can be damn sure I am going to bring that son of a bitch down before this is over.”_

“He is still Scott’s dad.” There would be definite blowback from Scott and the pack if something happened.

 _“And that is the entire reason I am twisted up in this when legally and morally I shouldn’t be.”_ Listening to Stiles get so worked up only intensified his interest in what he was doing. _“I am only going to plant a seed of doubt in his superior’s mind. What they do afterward has nothing to do with me.”_

“That seed of doubt thing is your favorite play.”

 _“Yes, it is.”_ It worked for him about ninety-five percent of the time. _“You said I sound like shit, but you sound exhausted. Why don’t you try to get some sleep? I’ll talk to you in the morning.”_

“I’ll give it a try.”

 _“I shoved a copy of_ On the Road _in your bag. I don’t know if you saw it.”_ He hadn’t seen it, but he was glad Stiles stowed it away for him. “You should read a few chapters, if you need help getting to sleep.”

“Thank you.” His own experience hitchhiking had not gone so well, but that didn’t stop _On the Road_ from being one of his favorite books. There were promises of freedom in every chapter that brought him a sense of calm.

* * *

 

The woman assigned to handle the case was intimidating, but she seemed fair, like a straight shooter. She didn’t skim over any of the documentation, instead read it carefully, taking notes on a pad of paper. She listened to the recording he had Gemma make, and watched the short video the ATF sent, as well as the one of the debriefing. She did it all with the utmost concentration but her face gave away nothing.

“That recording, supposedly made my Gemma Teller Morrow, should not be admissible.” Rafael argued. “We cannot prove it was actually made by her.”

“The voice from the recording and the one from the ATF’s video sound identical to me. Nevertheless, our technical analysts are running recognition software so we can be sure. The fingerprints found on the tape recorder are a match to Gemma Teller Morrow, who has been dead for five years.” Section Chief Liz Cortese spoke slowly as if McCall was a child who did not understand big words. “This may be hard for you to understand, Agent McCall, but some of us know how to do our jobs properly.”

“Elizabeth, that was out of line!” Rafael’s supervisor reprimanded.

“It is Section Chief Cortese to you, Donald. It would do you well to remember that you are here as a courtesy and I can have you removed from these proceedings at any time.” Cortese put the older man in his place without even raising her voice. “There is a chance the Director of the San Francisco office will be looking into you, once they see how well your agents do their jobs. It all depends on how this meeting goes.”

“How does it look to be going?” Lowen took a chance in asking.

“Everyone made mistakes, completely avoidable mistakes.” She sent pointed looks of disapproval to both he and Rafael before setting her eyes on him alone. “Officer Stilinski, you severely beat a federal informant.”

“Yes ma’am.” Prior to the meeting, Lowen had advised him to act remorseful, and if he could not manage that, then to only respond in short _yes_ or _no_ answers. Considering he did not feel regretful at all, _yes_ or _no_ answers it was.

“You were placed in a room with a man who had your mother beaten and raped by multiple assailants.” He swallowed thickly and fought not to cringe as she continued. “Did you know who Ethan Zobelle was before you walked into that room?”

“I didn’t know he was in that room when I walked in. I was not given the file until I was at the door.” He doubted things would be any different had he known the identity of the informant prior to walking into the room. “But I knew who he was, what he had done to Gemma.”

“Because of the recording?”

“No. When I was fifteen, my brother, Jackson Teller, told me what Zobelle had done to my mother. He wanted me to look after Gemma while he was gone. He was worried Zobelle would come back and hurt her again.” He may not have come back for Gemma or the club, but he was back. “I found the recording after her death.”

“That must have been very hard to listen to. It is one thing to be told second hand, in someone else’s words. It is another thing entirely to hear it from the victim’s point of view.” He held her gaze rather than dropping it like he wanted to. He was not going to show vulnerability here, even if it could help his case. “To be taken by surprise, seeing the man who orchestrated it standing in front of you, must have brought up a lot of buried anger.”

“Yes ma’am, it did.” He was sure that was obvious given the beating he gave to Zobelle.

“Your reaction was understandable. I can’t say I wouldn’t have reacted the same way had I been placed in a room with someone who brutalized a member of my family.” Her tone became sympathetic before hardening. “As understandable as it is, it is also unacceptable.”

“Yes ma’am.” He was aware that assaulting a suspect or informant was against the rules.

“However, you never would have been in that room with Ethan Zobelle had Agent McCall not brought you in.” She turned her steely glare toward the older man. “Ethan Zobelle had Officer Stilinski’s mother raped. Officer Stilinski’s mother killed Ethan Zobelle’s daughter. That is a highly combustible situation you created by bringing them together, Agent McCall. I hope you have a very good reason for putting both parties in danger.”

“There was nothing about Gemma Teller Morrow or the Sons of Anarchy in Ethan Zobelle’s file.” Rafael spouted off the same line he had given to Stiles two days before.

“I pulled the master file and reviewed all the documentation here today. I have spoken to Zobelle’s former handler, who was happy to tell me all about Zobelle’s time in Charming and connection to Mrs. Morrow and the Sons of Anarchy.” The Section Chief called bullshit on everything spewing from Rafael’s mouth. “Why did you bring in Officer Stilinski? He’s a rookie cop with a bachelor’s degree in criminal justice. His resume is lacking a number of things that would qualify him to be a consultant. There is also a necessary clearence needed to debrief informants of Zobelle's stature, that I can assure you, Officer Stilinski does not have.”

“His brother Jackson Teller, his stepfather Clarence Morrow, and his husband Juan Carlos Ortiz, were all members of the Sons of Anarchy.” That was all in Stiles personnel file. Rafael was doing nothing but giving them information they already had. “He grew up in that life. He knows how those organizations work. I thought he could provide a personal insight.”

“The same reason you called him is the same reason he never should have been in that room to begin with.” Cortese shook her head at McCall’s idiocy. “And without Zobelle’s link to the Sons of Anarchy there really wasn’t any reason for you to have called Officer Stilinski at all. So, how did you come upon him if that information wasn’t in Zobelle’s file? Did you input some specifications in to a database and his name just happened to be spit out? Please, try not to lie, I already know the answer.”

“Stiles is friends with my son Scott.” McCall looked away, training his glance at the wall rather than the person he was speaking to. “I knew his criminal ties because they have been friends for so long.”

“Criminal ties? We cannot help who we are born to, Agent McCall." Lowen asserted. "I doubt the son of a decorated sheriff would have willingly tied himself to a biker gang, had he not been born into it.”

“He willingly married a member.” Rafael shot back.

“They were married a week before Ortiz was stabbed to death in prison. I doubt Juan Carlos had the time to share any secrets.” Lowen acknowledged and this time Stiles did flinch. Despite the fact that Juice was alive and well, his pseudo death was still a deep wound. “He never would have met his now deceased husband, had he not had a blood relation to the Sons. Officer Stilinski is not a hardened criminal or an expert in how their minds work.”

“I disagree.” McCall declared.

“On which part?” Stiles cut in. “The hardened criminal part or the expert of the criminal mind part?”

“You are volatile and explosive.” Rafael spit at him. “I would say the hardened criminal fits you a little better than a criminal minds expert.”

“That is enough.” Cortese interjected harshly, taking back control of the room. “Let’s deal with the facts. Agent McCall used a personal connection to bring an under-qualified officer in to consult, without gathering all the available information. The end result could have easily been avoided. Officer Stilinski, I want to know one thing from you, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Do you know how you should have reacted, given the exact same circumstances?”

“I should have knocked on the door and been let out of the room once I realized who I was with.” He should not have spoken to or interacted with Zobelle at all. “Truthfully, even knowing what I did and the consequences I could face, I do not think I would have reacted any differently than the way I had.”

“I appreciate your honesty.” She offered him a small smile before her attention turned to her files. “Frankly, I find the attempted murder charge very far off from what actually happened.”

“You said it yourself, _Section Chief Cortese_ ,” McCall’s supervisor started condescendingly. “He severely beat Zobelle. He nearly beat him to death.”

“Officer Stilinski was armed. If he wanted to kill Ethan Zobelle, he could have shot him.” She pointed out. “I spent the evening with the US Attorney and the director of this office, trying to decide how to handle this situation. We all agreed that the best course of action, given the circumstances and the evidence provided, is to drop all charges against Officer Stilinski, on the grounds of extreme emotional distress.”

“Thank you.”

“There are stipulations.” There always were. “You must attend and participate in an anger management course, and meet with the department psychologist at your precinct, before you can return to work. While the incident did not happen while you were on duty or acting as a police officer, I am obligated to look out for the wellbeing of the public.”

“I understand.” The was a lighter punishment then he was expecting. Had he just been Gemma’s son, who happened to be a cop, rather than the son of a respected sheriff, things would have gone much differently.

“As for you, Agent McCall, the director is waiting for you.” She told the agent.

“Looks like you might have some major explaining to do, Rafael. It might not all have to do with this case either. You might have to tell them about all the government money and resources you’ve been using to stalk Scott and Melissa.” He couldn’t resist planting that seed. He had no idea if it was true, but it would place a black cloud over McCall for quite some time. “I doubt a talk with a director is just about little ole me.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Rafael snarled at him.

“Don’t you have a meeting? Chop, chop. You do not want to keep the director waiting.” He made a shooing motion toward the door. “I would like to speak to Section Chief Cortese in private, if that is alright?”

“Of course.” She agreed.

Stiles waited until the room was clear and the door was closed before turning back toward the only other person in the room. She had her head tilted to the side, studying him with a curious expression on her face. He wiped away the douchebag façade he wore when speaking to Rafael, and replaced it with one of caution.

“I am very impressed with you, Officer Stilinski. This all could have gone on for weeks, possibly months. You gathered the evidence, requested the meeting, and had everything wrapped up in three days.” She praised him. “I admire your work ethic.”

“I was on vacation when McCall had me picked up from the airport.” He shrugged his shoulders. “The quicker I got this done the sooner I could get back to that.”

“The FBI will pay for your plane ticket since you missed your flight. New York, was it?” He nodded in confirmation. “We could get on a flight out this afternoon, if you like.”

“That would be great, thank you.” It saved him money and got him to Queens in a timely fashion. “I know I don’t have any clearance, but I can I ask what’s going to happen to Zobelle now?”

“Once he is released from the hospital he will be placed in protective custody to finish his recovery.” For someone like Zobelle, protective custody meant some cushy house with the best doctors, while tax payers footed the bill. “Then he will be moved to a new location with a new handler.”

“That’s it? He gets a new handler and starts over somewhere else?” It was exactly what he thought would happen. “Even after what he’s done, he just gets to walk away?”

“I know it’s not fair. If the decision were up to me, I would have him punished within the full extent of the law.” It was not up to her though. She wasn’t a judge or a US Attorney. They delegated her to give out information today because the people who actually made the decisions were busy doing other things. His fate, and Zobelle’s, were set before he walked into the room that morning. “Unfortunately, it is not my decision. Ethan Zobelle is a very high profile informant.”

“In other words, he knows too many secrets about too many people. Governors, senators, people like that.” Zobelle was no better than a con man who knew the right people. He was a grifter and a mastermind. He was a criminal who had the law eating out of the palm of his hand. “He’s too hooked up. He doesn’t have to answer for any of the things he’s done so long as he gets results. I guess how he obtains those results doesn’t matter.”

“I understand your frustration – “

“Zobelle was an informant for years before he ended up in Charming. The FBI paid him for information.” They handed him every dime he gave to Weston and the other men who worked for him. “It was the FBI’s money that paid for Gemma’s rape. You all paid to have her violated. And for what? Information on the Sons or the IRA? How did that work out for you?”

“Zobelle is an informant. We have no control over his actions.” In their minds, they were not at fault, because they did not sanction the things he did. “I am very sorry about what happened to your mother. I am sorry that I don’t have the authority to touch Zobelle.”

“Right.” He was under no impression that she would bother to have Zobelle tried in court if she had the authority. “I apologize for wasting your time.”

“Agent McCall confiscated some items from when you were placed under arrest.” She removed his badge and service weapon from a drawer and put them on her desk. “I thought you would want them back.”

“Keep them.” He reported, standing up from his chair, prepared to leave.

“Officer Stilinski,” She held up a hand to stop him. “I can see how your faith in the system would be shaken, given the events involving Zobelle. However, that is no reason to give up your career. Take a few weeks, think it over before you make this kind of decision. You are a smart man with a bright future ahead of you. I would hate to see you lose that.”

“If it was only Zobelle, then I would pick up that badge and return to work when permitted.” He loved being a cop. He just couldn’t do it anymore.

“Who else is it?”

“ATF Agent Josh Kohn, ATF Agent June Stahl, AUSA Lincoln Potter, San Joaquin County Sheriff Eli Roosevelt, San Joaquin County Sheriff Althea Jarry, Charming Police Chief Wayne Unser, and several Stockton Prison Corrections Officers.” He rattled the names off the top of his head. “Kohn stalked and attempted to rape Dr. Tara Knowles. Stahl played shell games with people’s lives, and was responsible for the murder of Donna Winston. She also killed Edmond Hayes, but placed the blame on Gemma Teller Morrow and then a fellow agent. She and the ATF, along with the Charming Police Department, refused to look into the kidnapping of Abel Teller, when he went missing.”

“Officer Stilinski – “

“AUSA Lincoln Potter used Juan Carlos Ortiz’s race, threatened to out him as color to the club, to get him to steal a brick of coke. He threatened to tell the Sons of Anarchy that Juan Carlos was a rat, which would have gotten him killed.” He held Potter accountable for what Jax had done to Juice. “Roosevelt was Potter’s puppet. He helped him destroy Juan Carlos’s life. Roosevelt later made a deal with Jax Teller, told him he would give up the rat, if Jax gave him the man who murdered his wife. Unser spent years cleaning up the clubs messes, covering up what needed to be covered up. Althea Jarry took money from the club and in exchange, she would look the other way when it came their criminal activity. She threw her authority around like it meant something.”

“And the prison officials, the corrections officers?”

“They accepted pay offs. The warden was on Damon Pope’s payroll. He allowed the guards to gather a group of prisoner to beat Harry ‘Opie’ Winston to death.” He swallowed the lump in his throat at thoughts of Opie. “The guards like to watch and actively participate in conjugal visits. They sit in that little room and tell you exactly what they want you to do, and give you a reason to comply if you refuse.”

“You know this from personal experience.” She stated, rather than making it into a question. The answer was probably written on his face anyway.

“The guards made a lot of money off Juan Carlos Ortiz. Ron Tully paid them for access to him, while he was in protective custody and solitary confinement. They were given money to allow Tully to violate him, over and over again.” He spoke through clenched teeth as his anger rose. “The guards, the doctors, and the nurses in the infirmary, took payment from the Chinese, so that Henry Lin’s crew could gang rape Juan Carlos while he was there. The guards dismissed Tully’s blood covered hands, after he shoved a scalpel into my husband’s neck and left him to bleed out on the floor.”

“I’m sorry, Officer Stilinski.” Her apology meant jackshit to him.

“My faith in the system is not shaken because of Zobelle. My faith is _gone,_ because the system does not work.” If it were only Zobelle things might be different, but it wasn’t just one man. “No one cares what happened to Gemma, or Opie, or Juan Carlos. Gemma was the matriarch to a group of violent bikers, while Opie and Juan Carlos were two of those bikers. They didn’t matter. What happened to them means nothing to you people, because in your minds, their lifestyle predisposed them to those dangers.”

“That is not true.” She protested.

“Yes, it is.” No one was charged for the crimes committed against his family. No one cared enough to look into it. “There is a line we draw when we wear a badge or take an oath. It puts you on one side of the law, the side where you follow it.”

“It is a very fine line we all walk.” Cortese agreed.

“I had an outlaw for a brother and a sheriff for a father. I have always known where the line was. Kohn, Stahl, Potter, Roosevelt, Jarry, and Unser, they all crossed that line. They nitpicked through the rulebook or through it out completely.” They justified it by saying it was for the greater good, but they did more damage than good. “They swore to protect and serve. _Protect_ and serve. The only thing they did was leave wreckage in their wake. The more wreckage I see, the easier it gets to want to cross the line that I drew. If I don’t get out now, I will become part of the problem in the broken system.”

“It’s not broken –“

“I joined the force because I wanted to put the bad guys away, not work for or with them.” It did not matter if he was a cop or an outlaw. They were all leading him down the same path. “The only cop I would ever trust working with is my dad, and I’m not willing to go back to Beacon Hills. So, I’m going to bow out, before I can become someone I hate.”

* * *

 

Marisol’s back porch was quickly becoming his sanctuary. His family had been kind enough to leave him be during those times he retreated there, which he had done as soon as he had woken up that morning. He had come down the stairs after dawn to an empty house and a note from Mari saying she had gone to work. He had grabbed a cup of coffee and sniffed out a full pack of cigarettes his sister had hidden and then made his way out the back door.

He sat on the stoop for hours, chain smoking his way through the pack and sipping cold liquid out of his mug. He kept his eyes locked on a crack in the pavement. He focused his breathing to clear his mind, did all he could to forget his time in Hell.

The screech of the screen door opening pulled at his attention, but he didn’t look back to see who it was. He could smell who was there. The musky scent of sweat and ink mixed with traces of perfume, all pointed to his oldest brother.

“Still smoking, I see.” Ray observed with a surprising lack of judgment in his tone. “Can I bum one?”

“Don’t tell Roxanne who gave it to you.” He held out the pack to his brother. “I like my balls attached.”

“I won’t tell if you won’t.” He remarked as he lit up and settled on the steps beside him. “Marisol at the hospital?”

“Yeah.” He didn’t bother asking why Ray was there in the middle of the day instead of at work, or why he was acting like sharing a smoke was a normal occurrence for them. “Do you have something to say to me?”

“Should I?”

“I guess I thought you would want to know about last night.” He was an idiot to bring it up, considering how much he did not want to talk about it.

“I’ve seen your night terrors before.” Juice furrowed his brows in confusion. “You had them all the time when you were a kid. They’re a bit more violent now.”

“Shit.” He knew something must have happened in the time between him being on the couch and Ray holding him away from everyone. “Who got hurt?”

“You knocked Fee off the sofa. He hit his head on the coffee table. He’s fine.” The fact that he was okay did nothing to alleviate Juice’s guilt. “Marianna got the hell out of dodge as soon as you started twitching.”

“Smart girl.” No one ever accused Marianna of being stupid. “Thanks for not letting me hurt anyone else, and for calling Stiles.”

“No problem.”

“So, that’s it?” Ray was the family nag. The bastard practically broke out in hives if he had to leave things alone. “You don’t…”

“You don’t want me to ask anything more, so I won’t.” That was the opposite of how his brother did things. “Fifteen years changes people, Juan Carlos. I am not the same hardass that I was.”

“Most of yesterday tells me differently.” The older man had been a dick since he laid eyes on him.

“Can you blame me for being suspicious?”

“Kind of.” He would have been too if someone hadn’t seen in so many years had shown up out of the blue. The thing was, he had given everyone weeks of notice to prepare for his arrival. “I get it, though. You were looking out for your family.”

“Yeah, I was looking out for _our_ family.” Juice ducked his head to hide a small smile at his brother’s acceptance of him. “I won’t ask about what set off your night terror, because you don’t want to talk about it.”

“I pay a trained professional to listen to that trauma.” He spoke to his counselor or Stiles if he needed to talk about _that_.

“Therapy, huh? Must have been bad.” Therapy was seen as a last resort in their family.

“It was.” That was all he would say about it. “Thanks for not pushing.”

“There is something I want to know.” Juice couldn’t help but tense in apprehension as he waited to hear his brother’s question. “Where you been, kid?”

“I was in California for ten years, Oregon for the last five.” Ray was probably expecting a more detailed answer.

“What have you been doing?” That was a loaded question and they both knew it. “What did you do in California?”

“I learned how to be a mechanic, according to Stiles a kickass one.” He repeated his husband’s earlier sentiment. “I was a mechanic and a motorcycle enthusiast.”

“Is motorcycle enthusiast another term for biker?” It was a joking tone he used but when he didn’t see Juice laughing all humor left his face. “You were a biker?”

“Yep.”

“Biker as in you road a motorcycle or – “

“Biker as in I was a member of the Sons of Anarchy.” It didn’t mean the same thing to his brother as it did to him. The SOA did not have charters on the east coast, so it was likely Ray had no idea who he was talking about. “I’m not a member anymore. I’m a legitimate business owner, with a husband and two kids. I coach soccer, for fucks sake.”

“That’s a major lifestyle change, going from biker to soccer dad.” Ray pondered aloud. “It must have been hard to acclimate.”

“You are freaking me out.” Juice spluttered around his cigarette. “You are being nice, acting interested, and you haven’t brought up how long my rap sheet must be now since I was in an MC. You have not – “

“You respond better when I’m not an asshole.” They both chuckled at that. “I was on edge when I saw you because you looked…happy and taken care of.”

“That’s a bad thing?”

“It pissed me off.” Yeah, that was blatantly clear the day before. “You never did well on your own. You always needed people. You are not supposed to be happy or taken care of without your family.”

“I suck at being on my own. I self-destruct when left on my own.” It was a big problem for him. “But I wasn’t alone. I had a family, it just wasn’t this one.”

“Ouch.”

“You weren’t my biggest fan when I lived here.” He had no right to make Juice feel bad about finding a new family. “You hated me.”

“I didn’t hate you. Disliked, yeah, but I never hated you.” Dislike was not that far off from hate. “I don’t know if you remember, but you were a gigantic pain in the ass when you were a teenager. You had a smart mouth, and you were always running around with the wrong people, getting into trouble.”

“I was a thief and a junkie.” He knew who he had been and who Ray still thought he was. “I didn’t live on the straight and narrow like you and Marisol, and I didn’t see the light and clean up my act as quickly as Marianna did. But you constantly telling me what a piece of shit I was didn’t help at all.”

“How about all those times I nursed you through your first few days of detox? Did those help?”

Those first few days of detox were always the worst. He didn’t remember much of them, but he had vague recollections of Ray taking care of him. He would make him eat, and help him shower. He would run a hand through his hair and talk to him in the same soothing tone Juice had heard during his night terror. His brother never yelled at him, like he normally did, during those times. He would even crawl into bed with him when the shakes got bad, and would cry with him in the moments when he wanted to die rather than detox.

“Yeah, those helped.” He confessed. “If you want me to be brutally honest with you, those are the only times I ever thought you cared about me. When I came through it, sobered up, I always wondered if I just imagined it all.”

“I know I wasn’t the best big brother.” If he didn’t know any better he would swear that was regret in Ray’s voice.

“You were a great big brother. You were great with Marisol, Angelo, Marianna, and Felix.” He may not have treated Fee with the same kindness he showed the others, but it was still more than he had ever shown Juice. “I always assumed it was because I was your half brother. I didn’t share the same dad as the rest of you so – “

“That had nothing to do with it. Who your dad was never mattered to any of us and you fucking know it.” It was nice to hear. He had always had an unnecessary fear that his paternity would forever make him the odd one out in his family. “It was Mom, alright?”

“What about her?”

“You were such a mama’s boy.”

“So were you.” They both were pretty much attached to their mother’s hip as kids.

“Exactly.”

“Hold on,” Could their bullshit rivalry really come down to something so simple? “You disliked me because I took Moms attention? You were the oldest. You had fourteen years with her before I came along. We have three siblings between us that you could have placed the blame on. Why was I your target?”

“It was different with you. It was like you belonged to Mom more than the rest of us.” That didn’t make any sense. “Dad tried with you, you know? You were barely a month old when he came back. He tried to treat you like his own. He loved you, but he always held back because he knew you weren’t biologically his kid. Mom always tried to make up for what he couldn’t give you.”

“How is that my fault?” He didn’t ask to be born or to have different DNA than his siblings.

“It’s not. It was never your fault.” Ray quickly tried to reassure him. “Then there was how you were with Mom.”

“And how was I with her?”

“You were her protector.” That was a bad thing? Someone had to look out for her. “If you saw someone treating mom like shit, you always intervened. Even when you were a toddler, you would push people away from her with your pudgy little hands. You gave me a bloody nose when you were three, by hitting me with a toy truck, after I got in her face.”

“What the fuck were you doing in Mom's face?” It was a pointless question, Ray had been a teenager then, and teens always clashed with their parents.

“Something’s do not change.” Ray mused with a grin.

“You didn’t like me because I was Mama’s favorite –“

“You were not her favorite.” The older man grumbled.

“You didn’t like me because I was her favorite, and I gave you a bloody nose when you were being mean to her.” He understood perfectly now. “Does that sound about right?”

“No, it does not. It wasn’t about my nose.” He wasn’t denying the favoritism anymore so Juice took that as a win. “Since you could walk, you have protected mom, taken care of her. That was supposed to be my job, I’m the oldest.”

“You could have taken care of her too. No one was stopping you.” At least he could rest easy knowing it wasn’t anything he did that made Ray dislike him. It was all in Ray’s head. “Look, one thing I’ve learned being a Stilinski is – “

“Being a what?”

“A Stilinski, it’s my married name. Try and keep up, dude, come on.” He would ignore the wide-eyed look his brother was giving him and continue undeterred. “One of the things I’ve learned being a Stilinski, is that we are all supposed to take care of each other. There is no one person designated to take care of another. We all take care of each other. It is what families do.”

“I’m sorry, you took your husband’s last name?” Really, that was what he was going to get stuck on?

“Is that all you took away from what I just said?”

“No, I got the point. We take care of each other, yada yada.” He waved a hand in the air. “You took a different last name?”

“It’s just a name. Stilinski meant more to Stiles than Ortiz did to me.” That was a partial lie. He could not actually use the Ortiz name anymore, but even if he could, he would have chosen Stilinski over it any day. “Why does it bother you?”

“It doesn’t. I’m just surprised.”

“I’m not really an Ortiz anyway. It was your dad's last name, he was nice enough to let me use it.” His mom and stepdad were temporarily separated when he was conceived and later born. His mother held the Ortiz name so by default it had gone to him as well. “Had I been given my bio dad's last name, I would have been Juan Carlos _Cole_.”

“God, that’s pretentious.” Ray snickered. “Juan Carlos Stilinski, though, you got a winner there.”

“Fuck you.” He couldn’t exactly tell his brother that his name was no longer Juan Carlos, and that his new one sounded even more pretentious then it would have if he had taken the Cole last name. “It may sound a little funny but I like it.”

“Your old man and his family, they treat you okay?” He assumed someone would ask that question eventually, he just figured that someone would be Marisol.

“Yeah. They’re amazing.”

He didn’t need to tell his brother that John hadn’t liked him much at first, because then he would have to explain why. He and John had grown closer in the last five years. The older man helped he and Stiles adjust to civilian life, taught them how to be parents instead of uncles. They had bonded sitting vigil at Stiles bedside during the first hiccup with his heart. He called his father-in-law _Pop_ , and John called him _Son_. They had slowly developed the kind of relationship that he had always wanted but was never able to have with his stepdad.

And Stiles, well, Stiles was the only person Juice knew he could always turn to. Even when they were broken up, back when Stiles was in high school, he still made sure Juice knew he was there if he needed someone. Stiles had been trying to take care of Juice since his first day in Charming. He brought him out of his shell-shocked state, and gave him tips on how to get on the Sons good side. He helped Juice survive then and he kept Juice going now. He was the only person, out of all the people Juice had been with, that he could honestly say he loved.

“Fair warning, as he so helpfully pointed out when I was explaining Marianna to him, Stiles has often been described as over protective, untrusting, and a little unhinged.” It was all true. His husband was incredibly protective, did not trust easily, and could be a little unbalanced. “So, if someone acts like an asshole to me, he won’t hesitate to tell any of you off, family or not.”

“I’m playing nice.” Ray held his hands up defensively.

“I know.” He had his reservations about how long this ceasefire would last, given the fact that the previous one didn’t make it more than a few hours. “I’m just saying, he’s going to be polite and act like the sweetest person you will ever meet, because he wants you guys to like him, but he will throw down if he has to.”

“Did you seriously just give me the ‘my boyfriend will beat you up if you’re mean to me’ speech?”

“As if you have never used it.” Just substitute boyfriend for girlfriend.

“Well, yeah, have you met my wife?” Ray’s old lady was not to be fucked with.

“Woman is fierce.” Roxanne had been boxing since she was a child. Now, she trained others at her own studio. “Roxanne would KO someone for saying the wrong thing. Stiles would tear you down with his words before he got scrappy, and the wounds those leave behind last much longer than a bruise ever could.”

“I take it you’ve been on the receiving end?”

“No, thank fuck.” He and Stiles had gotten into it before, but Stiles was always careful not to go for his jugular. “I’ve seen the people who have been, though, and it ain’t pretty.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” The older man promised. “Marisol said he was young.”

“Only mathematically.” You did not witness the kind of things Stiles had, felt that kind of pain, without aging well above your years. “He’s been through a lot. Don’t let his age factor into how you see him.”

“Okay.” He knew it wasn’t that easy. His siblings were all going to see how young his husband was and make assumptions based on that. “Church is tomorrow.”

“Yep.” He didn’t know whether or not to be thankful for the change of subject, considering the new topic his brother was bringing up wasn’t exactly safe territory.

“Are you going to talk to Mom?” Again, there was no judgment in his voice, only genuine curiosity. “She will settle with just seeing you, but I know she wants more.”

“I’ll talk to her.” He had not seen or spoken to his mother in years. The disconnect hurt, but seeing her and seeing the hate in her eyes, would break his heart. “If she will talk to me.”

“She misses you.” It was easy to miss someone you couldn’t stand to be around when they were on the other side of the country. “I don’t know what happened with you two, but I saw the distance before you left.”

“It’s ancient history, Ray.” It was a long time ago, he was hoping his mother would let it go for just a little while, but he knew that was impossible. “It’s got to stay that way.”

He ignored his brother’s questioning gaze in favor of pulling his vibrating cellphone from his pants pocket. He unlocked the screen to find a new text message from Stiles waiting for him. He couldn’t help but feel a wave of calm wash over him as he read it.

_See you tonight._

* * *

 

He took out a pen and paper as soon as the plane was in the air, and the ‘seatbelts fastened’ light flickered off. He wrote a list of names, much like the ones he sounded off to Cortese earlier. It was a list of problems and their solutions.

RON TULLY → ETHAN ZOBELLE

AB → RON TULLY

LINCOLN POTTER?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [TUMBLR](http://www.stilinski-ortiz.tumblr.com/)  
> [Youtube](https://www.youtube.com/user/SandM1827/)  
>  Thank you for all the comments and kudos, they are greatly appreciated.


	4. I Have Called You Children, I Have Called You Son

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd.  
> Chapter title comes from For the Windows in Paradise by Sufjan Stevens.  
> Gif sets: [Juice & Thomas](http://stilinski-ortiz.tumblr.com/post/117039804954/son-shine-juice-thomas-oh-juice-is-thomass), [There's a thing?](http://stilinski-ortiz.tumblr.com/post/119843285972/son-shine-theres-a-thing-crossed-lines-chapter)

Having a few drinks at a restaurant bar during a layover probably wasn’t the best idea. Having a few more on the plane before it landed at JFK was not the brightest decision he had made all week, but it wasn't the worst either. He didn’t care when he ordered the first drink. It had been a long few days and he was on his own for a couple of hours. He had no children calling for his attention, no job to attend in the morning, and no old man to make him feel guilty. A stressful week, work, and loneliness were all contributing factors for his less than sober state.

He wasn’t fall-down drunk. He didn’t need to be helped off the plane or guided toward baggage claim. He even hailed a taxi and given the cabbie what he hoped was the correct address, all on his own. He was perfectly fine, though the way he stumbled up the stoop to the front door might have told others differently.

He straightened out his clothes and ran his hands through the hair, in order to look a little less disheveled, before knocking on the door. He wished he would have thought of buying breath mints instead of cigarettes at the gift shop. He probably smelt like a cheap bar. He was going to make an awesome first impression with his in-laws with the aroma of nicotine and booze wafting off him. Three-sheets to the wind him wouldn’t give a shit, but tipsy him was drowning in anxiety just thinking about it.

“Can I help you?” A petite dark haired woman with pretty brown eyes questioned after opening the door.

“I’m looking for Juice, err, JC.” He had no clue as to which nickname his husband had chosen to use while in Queens. “I’m his...uh…Stiles.”

“Oh!” The delighted smile that crossed her face probably would have frightened him another day. “Come in, please.”

She latched on to his upper arm to help him inside, coming to a halt once they got to the bottom of a staircase. She eyed him up and down with thinly veiled suspicion. She was sizing him up without trying to hide it.

“Are you his sister?” He asked to break the silence.

“Yes. I’m Marisol.” She released him arm and took a step back, either to get away from his stink or him in general. “He’s in the shower right now.”

“Oh, okay.” He stood awkwardly in the foyer, not quite sure what to do with himself.

“Can I get you something to drink or eat?” She offered politely.

“No, thank you.” He had more than enough to drink and he wasn’t hungry enough to eat. “I don’t want to be rude, but, do you mind if I goto sleep? I’m kind of tired.”

“Of course. The room is up there, first door on your right.” She jerked her head toward the stairs.

He gave her a nod in thanks before making his way up the steps. He considered it a win that he didn’t trip in his inebriated state. The room he came upon was nicely put together, had a homely feel to it.

He deposited his bag by Juice’s empty suitcase in the corner. He made quick work of stripping out of his jeans and hoodie, and into sweatpants and a tee, before crawling into the neatly made bed. He deposited his cell on the side table as he pulled the covers up over himself.

His eyes were heavy, so ready to close for the night, but the constant buzzing from his phones vibration kept him awake. He sighed in defeat and reached over to retrieve it. He didn’t bother looking at the caller ID, already knowing the person who would greet him on the other end of the line.

 _“Stiles?”_ Scott’s tone was one of worry, rather than the anger he was expecting. _“Are you there?”_

“Not a good time, Scotty.” He did not have the mental capacity to speak to the alpha tonight. “I’m not right, right now, okay?”

 _“I just want to know what happened with you and my dad. He said you hit him, but he wouldn’t tell me why. I know you wouldn’t just hit him, Stiles.”_ He was almost comforted by that, by Scott wanting to know what actually happened before jumping to conclusions and taking sides. _“What happened?”_

“You can’t just turn your dad’s attention my way and expect there not to be fireworks.” He and Rafael were at each other’s throats on a good day. “There was a problem with the case and things got heated. It was an accident.”

 _“I thought it might be.”_ Scott was still naïve enough to believe that Stiles would never have a violent reaction to anything, despite all the evidence pointing to the contrary. _“Did you like working with the Feds at least?”_

“Scott, you can’t do this.” He wanted to wait and do this face-to-face, but now would do when the scotch was talking. “I know you were trying to help further my career, or whatever, but you can’t. It does not matter how far up the pecking order I am, I am never moving back to Beacon Hills.”

_“Stiles – “_

“If it were just me and Juice, I would, you know that I would.” If it were just to the two of them, he would have gone to Berkeley and stayed in California. “I will not put the boys in that war zone.”

 _“Things have been calm.”_ Yeah, that was the only reason he allowed the kids to stay there while he was away. _“Things_ are _calm.”_

“For how long?” A couple weeks? A month? “It always starts again, Scotty. I can’t put my boys in danger. Can you understand that?”

 _“Yes. I’m sorry. I just miss you.”_ The wolf said in a small voice. _“You’re my brother, Stiles.”_

“I miss you too.” Fuck, he did. They may not click the way they used to, but he still missed his friend. “You and I gotta talk, man, when I’m soberer.”

“ _Soberer_?” Scott chuckled.

“Fuck you. You know what I mean.” The slip up further proved his point. “When I get back, you and Kira should come visit for the weekend. We can hang out and figure out our bullshit, okay? Can we do that?”

 _“Yeah, that’d be great.”_ He sounded so happy at the prospect of that. _“I’m going to let you go, okay? Have fun on your trip. Love you, man.”_

“Love you too.” He hung up without another word and shoved the phone back on the table just as the bedroom door opened.

Juice walked in wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. He seemed oblivious to Stiles presence, making his way toward the dresser, removing boxers and sweats. He tried to keep his breathing steady as his husband dropped his towel, but he couldn’t help but comment on the man’s figure.

“God damn…” He licked his lips at the sight.

“Holy shit!” Juice jumped back as if he were startled, wide-eyed gaze finding him on the bed in a second. “You're here.”

“Nothing gets past those werewolf senses, do they?” He quipped with a grin. “I thought they would be on high alert, you being so far from home and all.”

“I think they’re defective.” He had adapted so easily to the wolf. He had impeccable control, and could turn the enhanced aspects of himself on and off at his own free will. “Now that I know you are here, I can focus on your scent. You smell like cheap scotch. You been drinking?”

“A bit.”

“Do I need to tell you why it’s a bad idea to mix alcohol with your heart meds?” He asked while he pulled on his clothes.

“I’m not in the mood to care.” He retorted truthfully.

“That bad, huh?” The older man climbed into bed beside him as he spoke. “Do you want to tell me?”

“What do you want to know?” He muttered while training his eyes on his husband’s chest tattoos, instead of his face. “Do you want to know that the informant was Zobelle?”

“Ethan Zobelle?” He inquired as if there were any other Zobelle’s in their shared past.

“Do you want to know what he said to me when I told him who I was?” He reached out to trace his index finger over the lettering of SON on Juice’s skin as he felt a hand cup the back of his neck. “He said Gemma was beautiful, and that his ‘associates’ enjoyed their time with her.”

“Jesus Christ…” Juice wrapped his arms around him and pulled him closer.

“Do you want to know what I did to him?” He rested his head on the older man’s shoulder.

“Not tonight.” Juice placed a gentle kiss to his forehead and tightened his embrace. “Just sleep, alright? Let’s just sleep.”

* * *

 

He left his husband in bed during the early morning hours so he could shower. He was mindful of his cast, made sure to keep it dry as he let the warm water wash over him. It was only when he was toweling himself off, did he realize he had soaked through the bandage covering the wound on his chest. He peeled it off and threw it away, taking the time to dry the skin around stitches before going on a search for first aid supplies.

The medicine cabinet turned up a whole lot of nothing, which meant he had to find someone who could help him, or wake up Juice, who had looked far too peaceful in bed to disturb. He resigned himself to his fate and pulled on some clothes before retreating from the bathroom.

He followed the smell of freshly brewed coffee into the kitchen, where he found the woman he met the previous evening standing at the kitchen counter. She was staring lovingly at the coffee maker, as if it held the answer to every question in the universe. A woman after his own heart.

“Uh, hi.” He tried to keep his tone even as not to scare her, hoping she remembered letting him in to her home at such a late hour the night before.

“Good morning.” She sent a smile his way as she turned to face him. “You’re up early.”

“Yeah.” A glance at the clock on the stove told him it was 6:45am, which would make it a few hours earlier back home. “I was wondering if you had any bandages.”

“Are you hurt?” She shot him a concerned frown before rummaging through a drawer and removing gauze and medical tape.

“Just this thing from work.” He held out his hands to take the items but she kept them out of his reach.

“I’m a doctor, I’ll help you. Sit.” She gestured toward the kitchen table. “Show me your injury.”

“Okay.” He dutifully stripped off his shirt and took a seat at the table. “Sorry about the…puss.”

“How did this happen?” She took a paper towel and wiped away the small amount of gunk the shower hadn’t washed away.

“An angry guy stabbed me with a pen.” Zobelle had done it in a futile effort to get Stiles to stop attacking him.

“Ouch.” She cringed in sympathy as she drizzled peroxide around the stitches before placing a strip of gauze over the wound. “You need to change that at least once a day, and keep it clean, to prevent an infection.”

“I’ll do that. Thanks.” He pulled his t-shirt back on as she stepped away. “I’m sorry about last night, showing up…less than sober.”

“It’s all right. You didn’t do anything wrong.” He was sure showing up tipsy was a big faux pass but was grateful she was willing to let it go. “Can I ask you about your tattoo? The one on your chest.”

“The reaper.” His hands instinctively went to it, covering it protectively with his hands. “It’s a memorial tattoo, for my brothers.”

“Oh.” There was a look of empathy fixed on her features. “Juan Carlos said the two of you met through your brother.”

“Yeah, a long time ago.” It was a lifetime ago now. “Different times then.”

“What was he like back then?” Her tone was full of curiosity and trepidation as she asked.

“Scared.” He was not going to delve into Juice’s time in Charming for anyone, without the man’s approval, but he could give her that much. “Confused.”

“That’s descriptive.” Obviously not the answer she was looking for.

“It’s something you really should ask him.” He did not feel comfortable discussing it, and he had doubts that Juice would ever be willing to tell those tales to this part of his family. “Have you asked him?”

“No. I don’t think he would tell me, and if he did...I’m kind of scared of what he would say.” She was right to be scared considering all her brother had been through.

“He’s been through a lot, but he’s strong.” It was something people rarely believed about his husband, but it was the god’s honest truth, and he saw that strength each and every day. “He survived. He’s happy. That’s all that matters.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Morning.” Juice’s voice pulled at their attention from his place in the doorway.

“Morning, sweetheart.” Marisol greeted, as if she hadn’t just tried to get intel out of him.

“Morning, love.” He gave his husband a cautious smile, feeling apprehensive about how he would be received after what he admitted before falling asleep.

“I thought you would try to sleep until noon.” The older man bypassed his sister and stopped in front of him, he cupped his face in his hands and kissed his lips.

“Keep it g-rated, kids, you are in my kitchen.” Marisol warned and Stiles couldn’t help but laugh as they broke apart.

“A kitchen never stopped us before.” Juice threw back, and yeah, they had a ton of fun in their kitchen at home.

“Gross.” She scrunched up her nose in disgust. “Seriously, don’t defile my kitchen.”

“We’ll be good.” Stiles assured her. “Or, we will try to be.”

“I appreciate that.” She told him. “I’m going to shower and get ready. If you’re going to eat, keep it light, we’re having a big family breakfast after church.”

“Church?” He sent her an inquiring glance.

“Yes, church.” That wasn’t the explanation he was hoping to get, but whatever. “Nice clothes, okay? That means no camo pants and plain tees, Juan Carlos.”

“Slacks and button ups, I know.” Juice waved her off as she disappeared up the stairs.

“We’re going to church?” They weren’t really church people.

“My mom wants me to go.” Juice moved to the coffee pot and began filling two cups with the brew. “You don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”

“I’ll go with you.” Their three day separation sucked. His husband was lucky Stiles didn’t find a way to surgically attach himself to his hip for the duration of the trip. “Have you seen your mom yet or will this be the first time?”

“First time.” There was no lack of anxiety in his tone. “I don’t want to talk about that now. Um, do you want to tell me about Zobelle?”

“You know about Zobelle.” Every SAMCRO member knew about Zobelle.

“What happened with _you_ and Zobelle?” Juice questioned as he set a mug of hot liquid in front of him.

“They locked me in a room with him. He said some things.” Things he had already told Juice. “It got violent. I broke my hand on his face, ribs, and kidneys. He stabbed me with a pen. A couple of feds rushed in and tried to break it up. When that didn’t work, they tased me. McCall gave me the back eye after I’d already been handcuffed.”

“Fuck.” The older man shook his head. “How bad is it?”

“He’s got a ventilator helping him breathe, but the doctors say he’ll be fine.”

“I’m not talking about Zobelle. I don’t care about him.” He slammed a palm down on the countertop. “I meant you. What are they going to do to you? He is a federal informant.”

“Mandatory anger management and therapy.” It was a light sentence compared to how he was charged.

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.” He wasn’t ready to tell him everything yet, it just wasn’t the right time. “McCall wanted to charge me with more, but the US Attorney squashed that. I wouldn’t be here if they charged me differently.”

“Of course he would want to charge you with more.” There was nothing more than disdain in Juice’s voice as he spoke about McCall. “Knowing it was Zobelle explains a few things, like why you were talking about awful shit happening to bad people. I guess I don’t understand how Beacon Hills factored in. Isn’t that where you got your smoking gun?”

“It was Gemma.” He blurted out before he could think better of it.

“What was Gemma?”

“The smoking gun. It was Gemma.” He dropped his gaze to the table as he confessed. “She’s alive. I talked Jax out of killing her. She’s been locked up in Eichen House the last five years.”

“What?” Juice questioned as he sat down in the chair next to him, his voice placid not accusing in any way. “What are you talking about?”

“I couldn’t let him kill her. I preyed on his paternal instincts.” He didn’t think it would work, that love could overpower hate in his brothers mind, but it had. “Abel told him it was Gemma that killed Tara. He didn’t understand the gravity of that. He still doesn’t. He loved Tara, but he loved Gemma too. When he gets older, he’s going to realize it was his truth that caused her death. I couldn’t let him hold that guilt.”

“Abel thinks she’s dead –“

“I’m going to tell him the truth when he starts asking questions.” Those questions might come up sooner rather than later. “One day, I’m going to take Abel and Thomas to see her, so she can see the betrayal in their eyes. She is going to see what Tara and Jax’s death did to them.”

“Stiles…” He seemed at a loss for words, unable to say anything but his name.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. The only other person who knew was Jax and he…” Two people could keep a secret, so long as one of them was dead. “The deader she was, the safer everyone was.”

“She’s alive and you have seen her?”

“This was the only time since I went to tell her that Jax was dead. If I visited, it would defeat the purpose of isolating her. The worst pain for her is to live without her family.” The years without them had already taken a toll on her. It was clear in how she had reacted when she saw him. There was no anger directed at him, just resignation. “I felt bad about making her relive what Zobelle had done to her, so I bought her some birds to keep her company. That is all she gets though. I can’t see her again. You cannot let me see her again. I gave her too much already.”

“Okay.” Juice placed a consoling hand over one of his own. “You will not see her again.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.” He repeated his apology.

“It’s okay. It’s just…” He trailed off and looked a bit lost in all the information Stiles had just dumped on him. “She’s alive and I don’t know how to feel about that.”

“She was worried about you.” He revealed softly, unsure of how his husband would react to that. “I told her I was supposed to be here with you, and she got very upset knowing you were alone. She doesn’t trust your family with you. She didn’t waste any time helping me because she wanted me to be here to take care of you.”

“She said that?” The older man asked with hope shining in his eyes.

Gemma was, essentially, Juice’s mother while he lived in Charming. She was the maternal figure of SAMCRO, the matriarch. She and Clay had taken on parental roles in Juice’s life. Just like with Clay, Juice still wanted her to love him, despite the horrible things that happened. So, Stiles would not lie, he wouldn’t take that away from him. Gemma still cared for Juice, and he needed to know that.

“She did. She also wanted me to do this, because she can’t do it herself.” He gripped Juice’s chin in his fingers and turned his head to the side before placing a firm kiss to his cheek. “That’s from her.”

“It almost makes up for her trying to kill me.” He joked halfheartedly, fingers moving to touch the spot on his cheek.

“She wasn't going to kill you. You pulled a gun on her before she had the chance to try.” He corrected with the facts of what actually happened. “Not two days later did she have a gun pointed at the back of my head. You’re not so special.”

“Yeah, but she never would have killed you.” Juice grumbled into his coffee mug. “You’re her son.”

“She wouldn’t have killed you either.” She might have, but it was unlikely. “All’s you had to do was give her the sad eyes and some tears, and she would have let you go.”

“You think?”

“Yeah.” Juice’s puppy eyes could get anyone to do anything. “Should we be getting ready for church?”

“Probably.” He didn’t seem in a hurry to get up and do it.

“You’re nervous about seeing your mom.”

“She hated me before I left. She couldn’t stand the sight of me.” He ducked his head in shame. “I don’t want to see her hate me again.”

“Why would she hate you?” It was an unspoken rule that they did not talk about Juice’s family, about Queens, but he couldn’t help but ask.

“I did something and it hurt her. It hurt everyone, but her the worst.” The pain was so visible in his eyes that it made Stiles ache. “I want to tell you about it. All of it. I can’t do that here. Maybe we can go for a drive later. There is somewhere I want to take you. We can talk there.”

“Okay.”

“For now, let’s get dressed.”

* * *

 

To say he was nervous would have been a vast understatement. His leg was continuously bouncing up and down. His fingers were tapping out a rhythm against the car door. His wolf claws had extended on their own volition, twice, and he had damn near bitten through his bottom lip by chewing on it with his fangs. He was strung tighter than a bowstring.

“We’ll be out in a minute.” He heard Stiles say from his spot beside him before his sister got out of the car. And, fuck, he hadn’t even realized the car had stopped. “Juice?”

“We’re at the church.” He said breathlessly as he eyed the looming cathedral. “We’re here already.”

“Yes, we are.” Stiles voice was soothing in the way he usually reserved for nightmare nights. “We don’t have to go in. We can stay in the car or go back to the house. Your sister left the keys and said she could get a ride with someone else if we had to go.”

“Of course she did.” Marisol was good like that. “I need you to make me get out of the car.”

“No. I’m not going to do that.”

“I want to go out there, I just need a boost.” He needed proper motivation, not for Stiles to forcibly push him from the vehicle.

“Oh, okay. I can do that.” Stiles responded as he unbuckled his seatbelt. “I just put my freedom in Gemma’s hands. I relied on her to falsify evidence and get me out of an attempted murder charge. If I could do that, then you can face your mother. How was that?”

“Good.”

He climbed out of the car before his courage could dissipate, Stiles following him a second later. He spotted his family quickly, all gathered by the church entrance, surrounding a woman who looked so much older than he had last seen her. He walked with a purpose toward her, only to stop short when his husband's words fully registered in his mind.

“Hold on,” He held up a finger as he turned his head to level a ‘what the fuck’ look toward the younger man. “Did you just use the words _Gemma_ , _falsified evidence_ , and _attempted murder charge_ , in the same sentence?”

“Not the time, honey.” Stiles gave him a somewhat deranged smile before not so gently shoving him toward his family, causing him to collide with his little brother.

“Watch it, bro.” Felix knocked their shoulders together good-naturedly.

“Sorry.” He apologized before taking a careful glance in his mother’s direction.

She was just as beautiful as he remembered, even with time showing so clearly in her features. She still had the same long brown hair, but it mixed with strands of gray that hadn’t been there before. The wrinkles on her face were more prominent now than they had been. Her eyes, though, were the same brilliant amber they had always been.

She wore a small smile instead of the frown he had been expecting to be graced with. If he looked close enough there was no hate radiating from her, only sadness.

“Hi Mama.” The words left his mouth so easily, as if he said them every day, when the truth was, he hadn’t said them once in fifteen years.

“Juan Carlos,” Her hands reached out to touch but remained in the air, unsure of whether she had the right to touch him.

He stood frozen, because it was all wrong. He was the one who didn’t have the right. He wanted to hug her, to have her arms wrapped around him in a way they hadn’t since he was a boy. Even while she was offering, he didn’t know if he was allowed to have that.

He was all too aware of the silence that had fallen around them. His sibling’s eyes all locked on them, waiting to see what was going to happen. All of the sudden there was a familiar feeling of a hand on his back and he was pushed forward once more, but not as harshly this time. Stiles didn’t remove his offending appendage until Juice was safely in his mothers embrace, and there was a audible sigh relief from those around them.

He curled his arms around her tightly, burying his head in the crook of her neck like a child. He took in her scent, but like Stiles', he couldn’t nitpick through it. It was what it was. Just as Stiles smelt like love and home, she simply smelt like a mother, _his_ mother. It was wonderful and terrifying at the same time.

“My baby,” She whispered into his ear as if it were a special name just for them. “I love you so much, my boy.”

“I love you too.” He kissed her cheek and made himself pull away before he let his emotions get the better of him.

“You’re so much older.” She marveled while taking in his features, caressing his face softly with her fingertips. “I thought you would still look…eighteen.”

“Disappointed?”

“No, baby.” She took his hand in hers, not letting him take another step away from her. "Just sad that I missed so much of your life.”

“I’m sorry.”

“JC,” Marisol’s voice cut into their conversation. “Are you going to introduce Mom to your old man?”

“Yeah.” He used his free hand to latch his fingers around Stiles wrist, bringing him to his side. “Mom, this is Stiles, he’s…mine.”

“Yours, huh?” She wore a smirk but there was pride written all over her face. She was proud of him, that he found someone.

“Yes ma’am.” Stiles responded politely. “It’s very nice to meet you, Mrs. Ortiz.”

“Let’s get one thing clear,” She hardened her tone just so, and he couldn’t help but take a cautionary step in front of his husband. “I will only answer to Mom, Antonia, or Mama O. If ma’am or Mrs. Ortiz comes out of your mouth again in reference to me, I will pop you on the back of the head. Is that clear?”

“Crystal.” Stiles was not raised to be a fool. Juice would bet good money he wouldn’t slip up once unless he wanted to purposefully annoy her. “It’s nice to meet you, _Antonia_.”

“Come here.” She ordered and Stiles shot him a wary glance, before his mother brought him into a hug.

“Oh! Uh…mom hugs.”

He could almost feel Stiles panic as if it were his own. Stiles hadn’t been on the receiving end of a mother’s hug since he was eight. Melissa’s did not hold up quite the same way Claudia’s had, and he couldn’t remember Gemma holding Stiles in any way. Being locked in an embrace with a mom, especially one he didn’t know, was making him uneasy.

“It’s customary to hug back, Stiles.” He leaned in to speak low enough for only his husband to hear.

The younger man’s body lost some of its tension, but did not relax entirely, as he wrapped his arms around his mother. She sent him a questioning look over Stiles shoulder, not at all oblivious to Stiles distress. He tilted his head to the side and tried to convey some kind of reassurance that she wasn’t doing anything wrong, that Stiles was okay, it was old pain causing this, nothing new.

Juice wrapped his fingers around the crook of Stiles elbow, easing him back before the tension could fully return. It probably seemed like possessive move in the eyes of his family, him pulling Stiles back into his space, away from someone else. It was easier to let them think that, then to delve into Stiles maternal issues.

“We should go sit down.” Roxanne suggested, in a small attempt to break the awkwardness. “The service will be starting soon.”

“Yes.” His mother agreed, then made sure to snag an arm around him as she set off toward the church. “You two stay with me.”

“JC shows up and the rest of us become invisible.” Felix grumbled under his breath behind them.

“Juan Carlos, Father MacManus wants to speak with you after the service.” She informed them while leading them to a pew in the middle of the cathedral. She somehow managed to maneuver him into the middle, bracketed between she and Stiles, while his brothers and sisters surrounded them on both sides.

“Yeah, I know.” His siblings had told him as much when they brought up the idea of him coming to church. “I’ll talk to him.”

“Juan Carlos had his first communion in this church.” She leaned around him to tell Stiles. “He was an altar boy here as well.”

“Oh my god.” He groaned and sunk down into his seat.

“Please, tell me there are pictures.” Stiles questioned with excitement and rapt attention in his mothers direction.

“I brought a stack of photos with me, in my purse.” She patted the bag and it looked so much more threatening than it had just a moment ago. “I thought Juan Carlos might like to have some pictures from his childhood to keep.”

“Juan Carlos will burn them.” He referred to himself in the third person as he sent up a silent prayer that there were little to no embarrassing ones hiding away in the stack.

“Stiles will cherish them.” His husband vowed. “I brought some pictures of my own to share.”

“Oh no.” He really should have checked Stiles things when he arrived.

“That’s good to know.” She shot his husband a mischievous grin Juice could recognize from his own face, before she changed the subject. “Are you a catholic, Stiles?”

“No.” They had never talked about religion between the two of them, Juice always sort of assumed Stiles was raised a Christian like Gemma and John, but personally leaned more toward atheism. “I’m not really religious.”

“You were never baptized?”

“Nope. My dad wanted me to choose my own way, when I was old enough.” It was the same decision they made for the boys when Abel started asking questions about the crosses that hung on the walls of Nate’s house.

“Don’t look so scared, sweetheart.” His mother reached over to pat his knee. “We’re not a bunch of zealots that are trying to convert you. I was just curious.”

“Oh, okay.”

The pair fell to a silence as the good father took his spot at the pulpit. The elderly man scanned the crowd, as he probably did every Sunday. He spotted Juice fairly quickly, sent him a pleased smile before moving on to the other parishioners, and leaving Juice to focus on his family, his husband specifically.

He tried to ignore how incredibly out of place Stiles looked in a church. He was fidgety and nervous, continuously glancing upward at the large crucifix that sat behind the priest. He eyed it suspiciously, as if lightening might propel from it and strike him square in the chest. You would never think the guy’s grandfather was a reverend given how damn uncomfortable he seemed in a House of God.

“You know,” He spoke dryly into his husband’s ear. “I don’t actually believe liking dick will earn us eternal damnation.”

“I think liking dick is the least of our worries.” Stiles muttered quietly, but Juice could hear Marianna chuckle from her place beside the younger man. “I think it’s our Charming lives and my time as a nogitsune that sealed that fate.”

“God forgives all sins.” He quoted the same line MacManus used to spew at him.

“That’s nice and all, but I don’t think it’s his forgiveness that determines if we end up at the pearly gates or the fiery pits of Hell.” He hadn’t realized Stiles had put much thought into it, but now he was intrigued, and quite possibly a little frightened. “He can forgive us all he wants, but I think we have to forgive ourselves before we can reach nirvana, and if we don’t, we end up downstairs facing never-ending torture in repentance for our sins. It’s like free will and all that. We make our own choices. We decide our destination, our fate.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“Don’t blasphemy in church, Juan Carlos.” His mother chastised.

“Sorry.” He said offhandedly, promising to do this Hail Mary’s later, but for now, he had to deal with his husband. “Are you having an existential crisis right now?”

“No. Maybe. Shut up.” He waved the question off without a tangible answer. “Give me a break. I’ve never been to church before.”

“Seriously? Your grandfather was a reverend. How have you never been to church?” He assumed Nate would have taken him at some point.

“I’ve just never been.” He shrugged as if the idea of attending was preposterous. “The closest I’ve ever gotten to religion is when Raging Rose tried to drown me in the duck pond when I was six, trying to banish the demon of homosexuality from me. She obviously didn’t do a very good job.”

“Obviously.” He deadpanned and tried to shake the vision of Gemma’s mother holding a small version of Stiles under the water.

“Quiet,” His mother shushed them. “It’s starting.”

* * *

 

Stiles wandered off the moment they walked out of the church. He made an absentminded motion toward the car, removed a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, and retreated away from the hustle and bustle of people. It left Juice with nothing to do but follow Father MacManus when he beckoned him on a stroll through the grounds.

“I’m glad you’ve decided to come home, Juan Carlos.” The priest said as they stopped in front of the gates that separated the church from the cemetery.

“It’s not my home anymore.” He reiterated the same thing he had told Felix upon his arrival. “I haven’t found a reason to regret the visit yet, so I’m glad I made the trip too.”

“Your mother was so happy when Marisol told her you were coming.” A pleased smile overtook the man’s face. “And when she saw you, held you in her arms, the weight she had been carrying all these years just disappeared.”

“Honestly, I wasn’t sure how she would react to me.” It was one of his greatest fears to have her look at him with disgust. “It was nothing like I thought it would be.”

“You thought she would hold your sins against you. That was your mistake, child. A mother always forgives her baby.” Forgiveness, in that situation, was not possible. Acceptance was the most he could hope for. “I have listened to Antonia’s confession for as long as I’ve worn a collar. I heard her, the last fifteen years, asking to be forgiven for the wrongs she committed against you. She came in every Sunday, to light a candle and pray for your safety.”

He really didn’t know what to say to that. He thought his mother, his siblings, would have brushed him off, filed him away like a bad memory. He never imagined his mom would pray for him.

“She had no reason to admit any wrong doings against me.” He was the one who had done wrong, had caused her an enormous amount of pain.

“She shunned you when you needed her most.” It was the truth, but Juice had understood why she had done it. “Raymond always came in on your birthday, to speak about you and light a candle. Marisol and Roxanne on every holiday. Marianna when she felt she needed you. As for Felix and Angelo…”

“What about them?”

“Those two, they always knew when you were in trouble. It was almost as if they could feel your pain, your fear. They found their way here when you needed them to.” MacManus moved a hand to his robes, removing a folded envelope that was faded with time. “I found a handful of letters, sitting on a pew, the morning after Angelo passed. I held on to this one for you.”

“Thank you.” He carefully took the paper from the older man, seeing his name written across it in his older brother’s scrawl. “Marisol told me there were letters. She didn’t tell me there was one for me.”

“Angelo was a very private person. Anything he wrote to you was for your eyes only. Your siblings would have read it, if they knew.” MacManus explained. “Angelo was closer to you and Marianna than anyone. Her letter left her feeling conflicted. I’m afraid yours may have the same effect.”

“Do you know why he…” He couldn’t say it. Stiles spit the words out so easily when speaking about Jax and how he killed himself. Juice wasn’t like that, he couldn’t make the words form on his lips.

“You and Angelo were a lot alike, Juan Carlos. If anyone could understand it would be you.” For a moment, he wondered if the priest somehow knew about his suicide attempts. It was impossible of course, but it still sat like a lead weight in the pit of his stomach. “Perhaps his letter could shed some light on his reasoning.”

“Maybe.” Part of him hoped it would, another part of him wanted to stay in the dark forever. “Father, I wanted to come back later, while I’m in town. It’s been a long time since I’ve been to confession.”

“I would be happy to listen.” He turned his head toward the parking lot, the direction Stiles had headed. “Bring your young man. He seems…troubled. A little confession might do him some good.”

“It might.” Though his husband would never admit it, he internalized a lot of things that needed to be let out. “You’re not going to give me some speech about how homosexuality is a sin and I’m going to burn in hell? Isn’t that what the good book says?”

“The bible is only how we interpret it to be. Everyone has a different opinion on what it reads. I believe that love is love, regardless of sexuality.” The older man mused, sounding more like a hippy than a priest. Juice liked to think he had gotten lost on his way home from Woodstock and somehow ended up in seminary school. “I try to teach my congregation the same. It seemed to resonate with you as a child. If I remember correctly, when you came of age, you loved your way through plenty of different people, with no regard for their gender.”

“ _Lusted._ I _lusted_ my way through plenty of men and women.” He corrected as his eyes found Stiles, who had taken to sitting on the sidewalk with a cigarette dangling from his mouth. “Love was sacred. There’s only ever been one person.”

“Antonia would look at Raymond Sr. the way you are looking at that young man.” MacManus said approvingly. “They had hard times, but always found their way back to each other.”

“So have we.” They had been through hell, both together and apart.

“Hopefully, your story ends better than theirs did.”

“Yeah, hopefully.”

* * *

 

He didn’t much of a recollection of the church service or the ride back to Marisol’s house. After the priest had started speaking, his mind had been on anything but the words of the bible. His brain was constantly jumping from thoughts of Gemma and Zobelle, to the boys and the club, then to the corrupt justice system. When he came back to himself fully he was standing in the middle of a living room with no clue how he got there.

He shook off the thoughts in his mind as he moved toward the kitchen the Ortiz’s had all piled into. The majority of his husband’s family were gathered around table, a select few, like Juice, were reaching into the fridge and cupboards, preparing to fix their meal. He wasn’t sure what he should do, but he knew standing like an idiot in the doorway wasn’t it.

“Hey,” Juice grabbed his attention with a hand on his wrist. “Help with breakfast. Cut up some fruit.”

“Okay.”

Having a task was good, kept him busy, and out of his head. Even something as menial as chopping up fruit helped settle him. He kept one eye on Juice while he did it, stealing glances at him whenever he got the chance. He marveled at how well he navigated around his family, as if he never left at all. It was nice, but troubling. It made him wonder if his husband would be happier here, with his real family, than with the makeshift one they made back home.

“You happy, baby?” He questioned before he could stop himself when Juice joined him at the counter. He knew the pet name tacked on to the end was a good tipoff of where his mood was. They only used endearments like that when one or both of them needed to be talked off the ledge. “Are you happy here?”

“I am.” He answered truthfully, leveling Stiles with a tender look in his eyes. “Now that you are here with me.”

“Oh, wow.” He snorted through a bright smile, warmth filling him at his husband’s admission. “You are a corny bastard.”

“I wasn’t lying.” The older man claimed indignantly.

“I know.” He knew Juice wouldn’t say something like that unless he meant it. “You hunch up your shoulders, shake your head, and go all wide-eyed when you lie.”

“I do not!”

“He still does that?” Antonia asked with a chuckle. “I thought he would grow out of that, learn how to lie better.”

“He hasn’t.” Juice had one hell of a tell, it was not something small, but it was easily written off. “Not many people seem to pick up on it, though.”

“Hard to pick up on something that’s not there.” Juice mumbled under his breath. “Hey, have we called to check in on the boys today? I can’t remember.”

“I called them while you were spacing out in the car.” He made use of the ride to the church. “Everyone is good, better than they were when I checked on them during my visit to Beacon Hills.”

“What does that mean?” Juice set down the knife he was holding, turning his full attention on Stiles, ignoring the others in the room as if they were not there. “What happened?”

“Abel gave Thomas a bloody nose.” Now Juice’s eyes were wide for a reason that wasn’t a lie.

“Why?”

“It was over this.” He twisted the ring from where it still sat on his finger and held it out.

“This isn’t Jax’s.” The older man decided as he examined the SONS ring. “Where did they even get it?”

“It was JT’s. Gemma gave it to Abel when she was saying goodbye to him.” It disturbed him the way his husband eyed the jewelry like it was something precious. “She told him to wear it when he joined SAMCRO.”

“Gemma Teller, the gift that keeps on giving.” He joked humorlessly. “How did this cause a bloody nose?”

“Thomas found it while snooping in Abel’s room, forgot to put it back.” Abel had somehow come upon it in Thomas’s possession when they got to Beacon Hills. “Abel socked him for stealing it.”

“Crap.” Juice grumbled and smacked the ring back into Stiles hand as if it burned him by causing dysfunction between the boys.

“I told them we don’t snoop or hit people.” He tried not to feel hypocritical about it. He had long ago resigned himself to living by the _do as I say, not as I do_ , style of parenting. “They hugged it out. The problem is, now Thomas has questions about the club. I told him we would talk about when we all got home.”

“What are we supposed to say?” That was a fantastic question that he had no answer for.

“I don’t know.” He wished like hell he did, but he was drawing a blank. “Also, we’re going to have to reveal some family history, because Abel decided to tell his brother that the grandma who gave him this ring is dead, just like mommy and daddy.”

“Fuck.” Juice dragged the word out and scrubbed a hand down his face. “Anything else happen that I should know about?”

“Yeah, but I thought I would spread out the misery, rather than hit you with it all at once.” In his mind, not all of it was bad, but he suspected his husband might have a different opinion.

“That is so considerate.” The older man drawled sarcastically, returning to his previous task.

“I thought so.” He said as he moved the ring back to its place on his finger.

“Are we all just going to ignore the black eye?” Marianna asked, with a fleeting look of accusation going Juice’s way. “Dude, what happened to your face?”

“I was born this pretty.” Stiles winked at her, much like he would with his husband, who elbowed him in the ribs for it. “I got punched in it. Work related injury.”

“Juan Carlos said you were a cop.” Juice’s older brother spoke up.

“Mhm.” Judging from the major side-eye he was getting from Juice, it was clear his traitorous heart had given away his lie. “What do you do?”

“I’m a teacher.” He hoped the surprise did not show on his face, because given what a brute the man was he never would have guessed that. “I teach English at the high school.”

“Molding young minds. That's admirable.” He had a great respect for anyone who would willingly subject themselves to dozens of teenagers every day.

“Speaking of young minds,” Ray said a bit pointedly, and Stiles felt Juice tense at his side. “You look pretty young yourself. How old are you?”

“Old enough to be married with kids. Old enough to be the owner of two businesses, the partial owner of another, to have a college degree, and to have graduated the police academy.” He may have taken a little too much pleasure in watching the oldest Ortiz son’s face contort from annoyed to impressed and back again. “I’m twenty-three, but I’m promise you that my age is not the most interesting thing about me.”

“Nice bastardization of an _Orphan Black_ quote.” Marisol praised him with a pat on the back.

“Thank you.”

“You’re a little young for my brother.” Ray noted, looking at him as if he should be sitting at a kids table.

“Raymond.” Antonia’s voice was hard with warning, in a way that only a parent could manage.

“It’s true.” Stiles agreed plainly with the other man’s assessment. “He never really stood a chance, though. I staked my claim in him when I was eight. It was unrealistic at the time, but I knew it would work out in my favor eventually. I’m very patient. I had him in my bed at sixteen and put a ring on him at eighteen.”

“Excuse me, I put a ring on you.” Juice corrected toying with the ring on his own finger. “You shoved a marriage license in my hands, while we were eating breakfast at a shitty little diner, and then drove us to the court house.”

“There were extenuating circumstances.” However, he doubted if either of them took the time to do it properly, they would make a huge deal out of a proposal. “And neither of us is the romantic type. If I had gotten down on one knee you would have fallen out of the booth laughing.”

“Can’t argue with that.”

“What were the extenuating circumstances?” Felix questioned.

“Long story.” Juice shut down that line of questioning quickly, instead choosing to turn the conversation around on his family. “Mama, you know Ray and I talked yesterday, and he said he never liked me because I was your favorite.”

“That’s not what I said!” The older man spluttered.

“Yes it is.”

“I love all my children equally.” Antonia replied exasperatedly, as if this was a familiar dispute between the brothers. “There is no favorite.”

“Isn’t that just something parents have to say?” Stiles asked her. He knew he was his dad’s favorite, purely by lack of other options, and he knew Jax was Gemma’s favorite for the same reason. “It’s kind of like when siblings claim they don’t have a favorite brother or sister, right?”

“Juan Carlos has no problem picking favorites.” Marianna grumbled and threw a rolled up paper towel at Juice’s face, only for him to catch it midair. “Bastard.”

“If you wonder why you aren’t my favorite sister,” He tossed the napkin back at her. “It’s because you’re always hitting me or throwing shit in my direction.”

“You have kids, don’t you?” Antonia ignored her children in favor of speaking to him. “Do you have a favorite?”

“No.” He didn’t think he did, but subconsciously he probably favored one over the other, but he hoped not. “The boys sure have a favorite parent though.”

“They do not.” Juice denied, but the small smile playing on his lips told him otherwise.

“Yes they do. Oh, he, is Thomas’s favorite person.” He pointed to Juice while looking at his mother-in-law. “Thomas trails after him everywhere he goes.”

“I’m not the one he called _Dad_ when he started talking.” Juice shot back and, yeah, that stung a bit.

“He was a baby.” It was the only viable excuse there was for it. “He didn’t know what he was saying, let alone who he was saying it to.”

“They are your kids,” Roxanne brought up, sounding a bit confused. “Kids generally call their parents mom and dad, or dad and dad in your guys' case. What’s the problem?”

“Biologically, they are my older brother Jax’s kids. I got custody after he died.” By proxy, Juice retained custody as well because they were married. “It didn’t feel right to have either of them call us dad or pop, so soon after their parents died.”

“That makes sense.”

“When they’re old enough to understand everything, and they decide they want to call us something other than uncle, then they can.” Abel knew what being adopted meant, had starting referring to them as his dads to his friends and teachers, but hadn’t yet called them by the title. Thomas had never really known the difference, just followed his brothers lead.

“How did your brother die?” Marisol asked earning more than a few disapproving looks. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Motorcycle accident.” Juice answered before he had the chance. Stiles go to answer was suicide by motorcycle. He didn’t whitewash it like everyone else did. He did not martyr Jax. Considering Juice had a brother of his own that committed suicide, it was probably best not to be so frank about it.

“Sorry for you loss.” It was about five years too late and worthless nonetheless, but it was something you said, so Stiles gave her a small nod in thanks and tried to put it out of his head.

“Juan Carlos always asked for a motorcycle growing up. I never let him have one, thank God.” Antonia seemed so relieved, while both Juice and Stiles ducked their heads down quickly in case any kind of guilt showed on their faces.

“Mama, Juan Carlos was in a motorcycle gang.” Ray informed the other woman a little harsher than necessary, like he was more than happy to bring his brother down a peg in their mother’s eyes. It kind of put a kink in the ceasefire Juice told him they had going.

“It was a club, not a gang.” Juice snapped at his oldest sibling. “I told you that in confidence, asshole, not so you could go spreading that shit around.”

“Sorry.” He didn’t sound the least bit apologetic. “I didn’t know it was a secret.”

“You want to sit down and explain this to me, Son?” The tone in the Ortiz matriarch’s voice suggested there was would be no getting out of the discussion, but fortunately for Juice, he was almost as good at deflection as Stiles was.

“I’m cooking.” His husband hip-checked his older sister away from the stove and took over flipping pancakes in an effort to keep his hands moving and not have to face his mother. “I’m not a member anymore, if that makes you feel better.”

“It does a little bit.” She probably wouldn’t feel better if she knew the how and the why behind it all. “Stiles, were you part of this motorcycle club?”

“Nope.” He shook his head and kept his gaze downward at the fruit he had already cut into small enough bits. “Grew up with it, but was never a member and never wanted to be.”

“Does my son still ride a motorcycle?” There was one right answer, unfortunately didn’t have it for her.

“I’m afraid we both do.” He admitted timidly, schooling an ashamed look onto his face. “It’s very rare now, though. It’s kind of hard to strap booster seats to the back of a Dyna. We mainly ride them on day trips up to the mountains.”

“Trips to the mountains? Sounds awfully romantic for two people who claim they aren’t romantic.” Roxanne teased playfully.

“Sharing a joint on a park bench at a deserted rest area…” Juice tilted his head back and forth. “I suppose there could be romance in that.”

“It’s usually under the light of the full moon.” He reminded his husband, leaving out all the things they did under the moon. “That’s kind of romantic.”

“It is romantic.” Juice agreed humbly. “Fuck it, we’re romantic.”

“You two are so freaking adorable.” Ray’s wife gushed, causing them both to flush brilliant shades of red.

“We are adorable, but spend a few hours with us and it won’t seem so cute.” It wore pretty thin on some people.

“I doubt that.”

“Stiles, did you take your meds yet?” His husband asked as if the thought had just occurred to him, in the same moment that the alarm signaling it was time for his medication chimed on his phone. “Hey, I think it’s time to take your pills.”

“Really? I had no idea.” He rolled his eyes and pushed away from the counter. “I don’t know why I bother setting an alarm. You always seem to know the exact second I need to take them.”

“Force of habit.” He had to more or less shove the pills down Stiles throat those first few weeks, when he was still heavy in denial that anything was wrong with him.

“I’ll be right back.”

He jogged up the stairs feeling his chest tighten the way it had since he left the hospital if he exerted himself even just a little bit, the cigarette he had earlier probably wasn’t helping. He would get an earful from Juice later if he was using his werewolf senses to keep an eye on his breathing or pulse. He slowed his pace as he walked into the room, snagging the meds from the pocket of his bag before sitting down on the bed. He poured the blood pressure and arrhythmia pills into his palm before tossing them back and washing them down with water from the bottle on the bed side table.

“Shit…” He took a deep breath in and exhaled slowly out as a wave of dizziness and drowsiness hit him suddenly.

* * *

 

Juice tried not to worry when Stiles didn’t come back down for breakfast. He could hear his even breathing, his steady heartbeat, could tell he had dozed off. He brushed it off to his family, claiming jet lag, which was probably part of the truth. He made it through the meal and clean up, before finally heading to the guest room to check in on the younger man.

He found Stiles curled up in the middle of the bed, body pulled tightly into a ball rather than starfished out like normal. The pillbox and a water bottle had been discarded onto the floor, lids clasped firmly closed, thankfully, to keep the contents from spilling out. He retrieved the items swiftly, returning them to their rightful places before sitting on the edge of the bed and just looking.

There was a pinched expression on Stiles face. There were lines of stress that made him look more Juice’s age than his own. Too many lines for someone so young. And he was young, neither of them tried to deny that to Ray, hadn’t tried to justify it. Stiles had taken the heat, the disapproval, and thrown a minimal amount of his life experience back to show that he wasn’t some stupid twink that found his way into Juice’s life. It earned him some respect in Ray’s eyes, but ultimately did nothing to change the man’s opinion of him or their relationship.

He reached a hand out to smooth down his husbands hair, trying to soothe away some of the tension. It was a useless effort. Stiles had exhaustion and stress permanently etched into his features. No amount of pills the doctors prescribed changed that.

Juice hoped being alone for a while, away from the kids, would help them both. He thought they might be able to fully relax, enjoy their time together, without having to keep an ear out for a child’s cries. It could still be that way, maybe, but any idea of how this vacation was going to go was tainted now. Zobelle and the feds had stuck their dirty hands in and mucked up the waters.

“Stop thinking so loud.” Stiles sleep heavy voice murmured at him. “Not going to lose it. Promise.”

“I know.” Although he wouldn’t blame Stiles if he did, if he let go some of the crap that kept him wound so tight. “You could, though.”

“No. No, cause we’re doing the thing.” Juice furrowed his brows in confusion as Stiles opened his eyes. “We’ve been doing that thing again.”

“There’s a thing?” He hadn’t known there was a thing. “What thing?”

“The thing my dad called me on.” Stiles struggled to sit up as he spoke, body not as awake as his mind seemed to be. “The happy home act bullshit. We’ve been doing it with your family.”

“Happy home act? What does that mean?” He could hazard a guess, but he probably wouldn’t like the answer. “What are you talking about?”

“The thing where we pretend to be well adjusted adults who have it all together.” Oh, yes, the pretty show they put on for the kids to give them some semblance of a normal life. “And we pretend we didn’t need years of extensive therapy to live within the constraints of society.”

“Oh. That thing.”

It had taken a long time for them to be capable of living the civilian life. It was hard to break away from the club and the pack. They had their own set of rules, moral codes, that went along with both lives, that did not fit in normal society. They had to learn everything all over again. They had to let go of everything they thought they knew and start over. It was rough. They still slipped up some times, but it didn’t set them back the same way it once had.

“I understand putting on the act for the kids, they need that normalcy.” Abel and Thomas deserved the damn apple pie life after the hell they had been through. “But is it really something you think we have to do for your family? Do you want to start this new relationship with them off on a lie?”

“I don’t want them to know the truth.” They could not know the truth. “They can’t see who I was, Stiles. The things I’ve done, that have been done to me…”

“They’ll still love you.”

“No. They won’t.” How could they if they knew? “Let them believe I took off and got my shit together. That nothing bad ever happened. If they knew, there would be guilt and anger and I do not want that. They don’t need to know about our lives with SAMCRO. They only need to know about our lives now.”

“Okay.” Just like that Stiles let it drop, because he was good like that and Juice fucking loved him for it. “Should we be with your family right now? Having breakfast?”

“You missed breakfast.” He informed the younger man, it was obvious he had no idea how long he’d been asleep.

“Shit. I’m sorry.” He looked so disappointed with himself that Juice wished he hadn’t mentioned it. “They gave me new heart meds. My body hasn’t adjusted to them yet.”

“It’s okay. The time difference and jet lag isn’t helping, and you didn’t sleep much last night.” He had grown used to seeing the dark rings of exhaustion that forever resided under his husbands eyes. “You want to take that drive now? Fee said we can borrow his truck.”

“Sure.” He wiped the crust from his eyes as he climbed out of bed. “I should apologize for being rude and falling asleep – “

“You don’t have to do that. They understand.” Juice assured him. “We’ll pick you up something to eat while we’re out.”

“I’m not very hungry.” He was never hungry, if someone didn’t feed him he wouldn’t eat at all.

“We’ll get you something to eat while we’re out.” He repeated with more force this time. “We have a few hours to ourselves. I don’t have to have the truck back until dinner.”

“Okay. Let’s go.”

* * *

 

He took the long way from Marisol’s neighborhood back to the one he grew up in. The route that would stick them in traffic and prolong the journey. Stiles was quiet throughout the ride, head leaned against the window, slurping down the smoothie Juice had bought him from the vegan place. Juice had gotten pretty good at deciphering Stiles spells of silence. This one caused him a bit of worry.

“What’s on your mind?” Given recent event’s he was willing to bet it was Gemma, but he couldn’t be sure.

“I quit my job.” The younger man said dully, as if he just told Juice he took out the trash or remembered to pick milk up from the store. “I told the Section Chief to keep my badge and gun.”

“Why?” If he had guessed anything, it never would have been that. The thought of Stiles turning over his shield and weapon never would have flickered through his mind.

“There are too many of them. Too many bad guys pretending to be good guys and too many bad guys getting paid to be bad.” He voice was thick, raw, detached, like he had already separated himself from the entire situation. “I can’t tell the difference. If I can’t do that then I can’t trust who I work with. I don’t want to walk into a building to bring down a perp, only to be shot in the back by someone wearing a badge because they think the money a criminal could give them is worth more than someone’s life.”

“I get it.” He had felt the same way in SAMCRO after Jax had learned has a rat. Anytime he went on a run he thought that would be it, they would kill him at any moment. It was like that even after he had done what they asked, and given how it all went down, he had a right to feel the way he did. “But you’ve wanted to be a cop since you were a kid.”

“Since I was a five, the only thing I wanted was a badge. I wanted to be like my dad. I wanted to protect people, to put the bad guys in jail. Even growing up with SAMCRO couldn’t change that.” Juice spared a glance off the road and toward his husband, seeing nothing but loss written on his face. “I wasn’t going to be like Unser or Jarry and work with…. And I wasn’t going to be like Stahl and put people in danger, break the law, just to get the collar.”

“I know.” Stiles wouldn’t have taken a pay off or cleaned up after anyone. He would be a straight shooter, just like his father.

“It is so easy to be them, though.” Stiles admitted as he began pulling at his hair, a sign of his frustration. “It is so easy to cross those lines. When I sat in that room, listening to McCall call me volatile and explosive, saying what I did to Zobelle was wrong, the only thing I could think of was all the ways I could make Zobelle disappear. I could make _all_ of them disappear. It would never be traced back to me. A few words and some cash handed over to the right people…”

“That is not who you are, Stiles.” It could be, could have been, in the right circumstances. Had Stiles grown up in Charming, with Gemma being the driving force in his life rather than John, he could have easily succumbed to that nature. “You cannot be that person.”

“I know. That’s why I quit. If I kept my badge, I would use it to get revenge on the ones who deserve it most.” Stiles didn’t wrap it up in pretty words like Jax had. He wouldn’t kill under the guise of it being for the greater good. He would be honest about exactly what it was, good old-fashioned revenge. “Doing that would put everyone in danger and I can’t do that. I won’t put my family at risk. So, I’m done. No more Officer Stilinski, it was nice while it lasted. Hell, with my heart being the way it is, I was on borrowed time with that badge anyway. Turning it in was the last good thing I could do as a cop.”

“What are you going to do now if you aren’t a cop?”

“I don’t know.” Once Stiles came to terms with it, he would know, but that was a long time from now.

Stiles had been a cop long before he graduated from the police academy or wore a badge. It was in his DNA. It was who he was. When everything else had been stripped away that was there. He had earned it, worked for it, it was the one thing he had always wanted, that he had for barely a moment, and now it was gone. When the numbness wore off, when he finally let himself feel it, Stiles was going to spiral downward and Juice could only hope to catch him before he crashed landed.

He tried to shake off the anxiety of what the future promised as he pulled up to the familiar house. He parked across the street, not wanting to be close enough to touch the sidewalk or the grass that led to his past. He made no move to get out of the vehicle, choosing to lean back in his seat and just stare at the property.

“Where are we?” Stiles questioned hesitantly.

“This is where I grew up.”

It wasn’t a bad neighborhood, like people might assume. He didn’t grow up poor. They struggled, but got by, like most families. The home he grew up in wasn’t some debilitated crack house, but it was a far cry from Marisol’s place, and the home he now shared with Stiles.

“It’s nice.” Stiles observed.

“Yeah, it is.” He didn’t hate growing up there, it was just never home. “Fee and I built that fence with my stepdad when I was ten.”

“That’s sweet.” It was the same kind of thing Stiles probably did with his dad growing up. “Where’s your stepdad now?”

“Ray Sr.? I, uh, I killed him when I was fourteen.” He had never said the words aloud before, not to anyone. “I didn’t mean to. It just happened.”

“Why?” It was so simple for Stiles to ask why with no judgment in his voice. To him, there had to be a plausible explanation. He didn’t believe Juice could just lose control. “Did he hurt you?”

“He wasn’t a bad guy. Not always anyway. He tried to be a good dad. Nothing like yours, yours is fucking amazing. Ray Sr. wasn’t a completely horrible piece of shit.” There was a large gap between horrible and good, and while Ray Sr. wasn’t an inherently good person, he wasn’t the worst person Juice had ever met. “He and my mom had been together since junior high. They had my brother Ray when they were seventeen. Not long after that, he joined the army, went to Vietnam. He came back with a drinking problem that made him violent.”

“He was abusive?” He could see the cogs turning in Stiles head, the assumptions being made.

“Only when he drank. He never touched us kids, not that I remember anyway. And, Mama is not the kind of woman who takes it lying down. One hit and his ass was out the door. She didn’t allow him back in until he was bone dry and stayed that way.” It was the same arrangement they had in regards to Wendy, until she fucked it up. “He sobered up before Marisol was born, and through Angelo and Marianna. He relapsed after that, Mom tossed him out on his ass, hooked with my bio dad for a hot second. Not long after I was born Ray Sr. came crawling back.”

“He was sober then?” His mom never would have let him back in unless he was.

“Yeah, still was when Fee was born. “ He and Felix only really heard about the abuse, rarely witnessed it. “Slipped up once when I was seven, but got back on track again pretty quick.”

“So, what happened?”

“I was a trouble maker growing up. I got into fights all the time and hung out with the wrong people. Once I found out what I could do with a computer in front of me…. Let’s just say I was in and out of juvie a lot because of my particular talents both with a keyboard and my fists.” He hadn’t learned to cover his tracks yet, which resulted into a lot of face time with a judge. “I spent my fourteenth birthday locked up. When I got out, no one was there to pick me up. I thought I must have really fucked up if they weren’t coming to get me. I ended up taking the bus home.”

“What happened, honey?” Stiles asked softly, not pushing him, but gently urging him to continue.

“It was so quiet. I knew something was different because of how quiet it was.” In a house with six kids, it was always filled with noise. Silence was a bad omen. “I didn’t hear Mama crying until I got inside. I ran into the living room, saw my stepdad had her by the throat. He was choking her out. Her face, Stiles, it was so bruised and bloody…”

“Hey, it’s okay.” Stiles unbuckled his seatbelt and scooted to the middle of the bench seat, offering him comfort by having him close. “She’s okay now.”

“I saw what he had done to her and I just snapped. I pulled him away from her and I hit him. I did it again and again. I couldn’t stop.” His mother had tried to stop him, but he had too much adrenaline coursing through him, and she was weak from her beating, it was a useless endeavor. “When I came back to myself, he was dead.”

“What happened next?” He blessed Stiles for not giving him some false platitude, for not telling him it was not his fault. He was aware his husband could easily justify it all, would in his mind, but he didn’t want to hear that right now.

“My mom did what moms do. She helped me. We got rid of the body, made it look like she had just thrown him out again. The others think he ran out on us, because he didn’t come back this time.” They even went to the police station to file assault charges against Ray Sr., just make it seem believable. “Mama couldn’t look at me after that. I was a murderer. I took away the person she loved.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I was out of control after that. I got into some really bad shit to try and forget. I spent the better part of four years with a needle in my arm. In and out of detox. I put them all through hell.” He was not sure how many OD’s and withdrawals his family had witnessed. If it were not for Angelo and Marianna dragging him out of whatever drug den he crawled into, and Ray, Roxanne, and Marisol nursing him through his detox, he would not be alive right now. “I was more or less booted from the house before I turned eighteen. Father MacManus let me stay in the rectory. He and Ray sobered me up one last time. Marisol had had enough by then. She showed up, drove me to the bus station, gave me some money, and told me to go.”

“Then you ended up in Charming.”

“Yeah.” Charming was home until it wasn’t anymore. “The one thing I didn’t want to face when I came back here was my mother’s hate. I could handle seeing Angelo’s grave, dealing Ray being Ray, but I couldn’t stand her hating me.”

“I didn’t see any hate from her, Juice.” Stiles brought their foreheads together. “I saw a mother who loves her son, who missed him like crazy.”

“And how long do you think that will last?” He was lucky if it lasted the night. “How long before that hate comes back?”

“I don’t know. You shouldn’t waste the love she’s offering you, just because you think it might go away.” The younger man told him, and he thought maybe he should listen, because Stiles had some experience dealing with a mother that wasn’t exactly fond of him. “You hold onto that with both hands for however long you have it, which I think will be a very long time.”

* * *

 

Juice seemed to take Stiles advice when they arrived back at Marisol’s house. His brothers and sisters were scattered around the living room, chatting amongst themselves. Antonia was in the recliner, a pensive expression on her face, but she lit right up when Juice came through the door, as if a veil of sadness had lifted.

Juice responded to her almost instantly, moving away from him and toward her. He sat on the floor beside her chair, back resting against her legs. She ran a hand through his short hair, while he leaned back into the touch.

It was beautiful to watch. A mother reuniting with her child. A son finally receiving the maternal touch he missed so desperately. The entire scene was made complete by the siblings surrounding them, all watching, but acting like they weren’t, content smiles on their lips.

It would be so easy for Juice to stay, to choose them. This family was whole, complete, one that was ready to bring him back into the fold. The family they had back home was broken, shattered by death and betrayal, until it was only them and their boys, putting the pieces back together and making it work. He thought they were making it work the best they could, perhaps Juice didn’t feel the same way.

“Stop it, Stiles.” His husband’s voice snapped him out of his dark thoughts.

“Stop what?” He questioned innocently, as if had not just been doubting their last five years together.

“Stop giving me that look,” The older man eyed him thoughtfully. “Like I’m breaking your god damn heart.”

“Am I that transparent?” There was no use denying it when he was being called out, even in a room full of people sending him probing gazes.

“To me you are.” That made sense. Out of everyone, he knew Juice could read him like an open book. “Come here.”

“There should be a _please_ in there somewhere.” He grumbled but his feet were already moving.

“Sit.” He looked rather annoyed when Stiles did not immediately comply with the order. “ _Please.”_

“Since you asked so nicely.” Getting snarky to deflect his vulnerability around people who were virtually strangers to him was pretty much his default. They would have to forgive him for it.

He joined his husband on the carpet without further complaint. He planned to take a place next to the older man, but apparently he had other ideas. He manipulated and maneuvered until Stiles was sitting between his spread legs, his back resting against his chest. He ignored the amused glances, lost to everything but Juice’s touch when the man wrapped a hand lightly around his throat.

“Stop over thinking everything.” Juice whispered in his ear. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Promise?” He hated that his voice shook, that he still needed the reassurance after all this time.

“I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [TUMBLR](http://www.stilinski-ortiz.tumblr.com/)  
> [Youtube](https://www.youtube.com/user/SandM1827/)  
>  Thank you for all the comments and kudos, they are greatly appreciated.


	5. Shattered Glass From A Past I Can't Let Go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd.  
> Chapter title comes from Nothing Left Here to Burn by Lovers and Liars.  
> Warnings: Mentions of past abuse.  
> UPDATE: I have changed Stiles and Claudia's father's names from Genim to Mieczysław to fit canon.

He had Stiles on top of him, fucking down onto his cock. The younger man's head was tilted back, the long line of his neck on display. There was a cover of sweat gleaming off the hard ridges of his body. His lips were puckered in that perfect ‘ _O’_ , breathy moans escaping every time Juice’s dick brushed over that spot inside of him that made sparks ignite. He was lost in the feel of it, didn’t seem to mind that the hand around his dick was only offering him slow and lazy strokes.

They had been at it for what felt like hours already. Juice had woken up at dawn with Stiles’ head between his legs, pretty mouth wrapped around his morning wood. His haze of sleep had fallen away as the wet cavern encased the head of his cock, offering only the barest amount of suction, making him whine in frustration, because it wasn’t nearly enough. Stiles had looked up at him with eyes full of lust and mischief, and Juice knew he was doing it on purpose, giving him only a little to keep him interested.

He retaliated by putting Stiles on his hands and knees and licking his way into his hole. He batted the man’s hands away each time they reached for his dick, refused to let him hump against the bed. He let his fingers join his tongue until Stiles was keening with pleasure and so close he was begging for it.

Stiles wasn’t one to beg for long, though. He pushed Juice on his back when he had enough teasing. He straddled his hips and sunk down on his cock with only their mixed saliva’s to ease the burn.

It would be so easy to just rut into him, hard and fast, like the animal he was. Stiles liked that. He liked that. They set a brutal pace on any surface they could find when they happened to have a few minutes to spare.

Slow and rough worked too. It meant more sometimes, and they never got to be with each other that way anymore. Their life was packed into such a tight schedule that they never had time to take it slow, to lay each other out, and take each other apart piece by piece. It was so much more intimate to work each other up so high, to be in so deep, that it was hard to tell where he started and Stiles ended. It was the most beautiful thing in the world to watch someone come undone at your touch, and that was exactly what was happening now.

Stiles was trembling with the need to cum. His pupils were blown wide, boring into Juice’s own. His hands were on Juice’s chest, nails digging into flesh, marring the skulls inked there.

Seeing his husband in such a state, smelling the arousal wafting off him, unleashed something primal in him. It had his claws extending, his fangs dropping, and his eyes bleeding a luminescent blue.

“Yes.” Stiles rolled his hips and leaned into the pinprick of claws at the base of his neck. _“Yes.”_

He was so god damn responsive when Juice let his wolf come out and play. He never shied away from it, always moved toward it, with it.

He could sense how close Stiles was. He could hear the choked off moans turn into desperate pants. He knew Stiles wouldn’t be able to hold back much longer. He would cant his hips a certain way, push down at just the right angle, and it would be over for both of them.

He used his grip on Stiles neck to bring him into a ravenous kiss. He massaged his thumb over the head of Stiles dick, swept it over the slit in the way he knew Stiles liked, and sent him careening over the edge. Stiles came down hard onto his cock, body seizing as his release spilled over Juice’s hand, hole clenching perfectly around him. He thrusted up into his husband’s ass, bit down on his lip, as his own orgasms shot through him.

Stiles shook against him as he broke their kiss, the intensity of it sending tremors through his body. He rested his head on Juice’s shoulder, puffs of air from his ragged breathing wetting his neck. Juice let his wolf sink beneath his skin as he smoothed a hand down Stiles back, over his firm ass, letting a finger trail his crack. He felt where they were connected still, his cum beginning to leak out, and he couldn’t help but work his finger in beside his cock, feeling his husband shudder at the intrusion.

“Too much.” Stiles whimpered, even as he rocked back against it. “Too sensitive right now.”

He smiled at the promise of what could happen later. He pulled his finger and cock out gently, enjoying the gasp it drew from the younger man.

“It was nice, you know?” Stiles whispered against his skin.

“Nice?” He scoffed, a little offended. It was more than _nice_.

“Let me finish,” He grumbled. “ _It was nice_ not having to have an ear listening for kids or customers.”

“Yeah, it was.” They didn’t have to worry about a child banging on their door, or a customer coming into the garage while they were in the office having some alone time. They were able to focus completely on each other.

“Hey,” Stiles kissed the spot over his heart. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” He sighed contently as they basked in the afterglow. “I say we stay in bed all day. Sleep and fuck.”

“I am all for that plan.” He nipped at Juice’s nipple, grinning coyly up at him. “I don’t think your family would allow it.”

“What makes you say that?” He questioned just before a knock sounded on the bedroom door.

“Boys,” Antonia’s voice filtered through the room. “Breakfast is ready.”

“Call it a hunch.” Stiles quipped with a smirk.

“We’ll be out in a minute, Mama!” He shouted back, feeling like he was in high school again. “I think you may have a point. I’m sure they have some kind of rotation chart made up, so I’m never without one of them for more than a few hours at a time.”

“At least she waited until we were done to come get us.” Yeah, it was a little too coincidental that she knocked so soon afterward. “Think we can get away with as shower before we head down?”

“If it’s a quick one.” Which meant no round two.

* * *

 

Juice took a moment to realize that this was the first time he had been alone with his mother since his return to Queens. They had settled down on together on the couch after breakfast, while Stiles had gone back to bed in an effort to give them some privacy.

He was shuffling through the stack of photographs his husband had brought. It was obvious Stiles had grabbed a few handfuls from different boxes without sorting through them. He held them close to him. It gave him the power to pick and choose which ones she saw. He wanted to give his mom the barest glimpse of his past, and some pictures just showed too much.

“Who is that with you in this one?” She asked about a picture he had stalled on.

“Stiles.” He was just a little kid in the photo.

“You look so young.” He had only been eighteen, the same age he was when he left New York.

“It was my second day in Charming.”

* * *

 

_A bright light cutting through his eyelids pulled him from a deep slumber. He did his best to keep still, to keep his a physical reaction at bay, when he realized he had no idea where he was. He pulled the blanket tighter around his limbs as he took in the bar, the pool table, and the vague recollection of being brought into this place, of being taken care of by strangers, came back to him._

_The open door that let the sunlight in caught his attention. He watched through slit eyes as an old man carrying an oxygen tank shuffled in, a sullen boy at his side. They sat down together at a table, not far from the couch he was laying on._

_“Hey kiddo, eat some of these. They’re hash free, I promise.” The man in the dirty denim kutte pushed a plate of muffins toward the child, only for him to refuse them. “Probably for the best. You probably wouldn’t be able to keep one down. Should start you off on something lighter. We don’t want you spewing it everywhere, like that one did.”_

_He made an aborted hand movement in his direction and he couldn’t help but flush with embarrassment. Attempting to eat a full meal was not his brightest idea, but the woman who had made it for him hadn’t given him much of a choice._

_“Your daddy says you haven’t eaten an actual meal since before your mama’s funeral. Says you’ve been nitpicking at your food for weeks. He’s thinking about putting you in the hospital if you don’t start eating. Is that what you want?” The boy’s only response was a small shake of his head. “You’re a smart boy. You know if you don’t eat, you’re gonna die, right?”_

_The kid dropped his gaze, a blank expression overtaking his features. It looked so wrong on someone that young. Someone that little should not have that much armor in place, shouldn’t be able to shield his emotions like an adult._

_“That might be okay with you, because you believe you’ll be with your mama. Heck, I don’t know, maybe you would be. But, you stood at your daddy’s side when your mama was buried. Hell, you sat at her bed side and watched her die.” The boy faltered at the old man’s bluntness. “You gonna make your daddy watch you die? You gonna make him bury you too? What about your brothers? Or the rest of us? Answer me boy!”_

_The old man slammed a hand on the table and the boy startled in his chair. He was pretty sure a reaction was the point, but it didn’t make the kids mouth start moving, like the old man wanted. To his credit, the old guy looked ashamed for having frightened him, and reached a hand out to lay it gently on the boy’s shoulder._

_“If you die, you pain is done, over. The rest of us, your daddy, Jax, Opie, Donna, we all have to live with it. We will have to figure out how to live our lives without you.” Tears poured from the boys eyes, whether they were from the statement itself, or the raw emotions in the old man’s voice, he didn’t know. “You gonna make us do that?”_

_The boy shook his head once more, rather than speaking, and this time the man seemed satisfied without a verbal reply. He patted the child’s shoulder consolingly before standing._

_“There are some apple slices in the fridge. I want you to try and eat some, and make sure he does too.” He jerked a thumb in his direction. “I got work to do in the garage today, I don’t know where Gem is, and everyone else is out on a run. So, he is your responsibility. Make sure he showers and eats. If he plans to stick around, let him know the rules.”_

_The old man leaned down to kiss the boy’s forehead, caressing his hair down in a paternal manner._

_“I’ll be in the garage if you need me.” He said as he picked up his oxygen tank. “Love you, kiddo.”_

_“Love you, uncle Piney.” The child spoke for the first time, voice hoarse from lack of use._

_The old guy in the kutte walked away without another word. The door closed behind him and took most of the invading light with it. He let his eyes close to, not really sure what to do now._

_“I know you’re awake.” The boy informed someone, who had to be him, considering it was just to the two of them in the room now. “I saw you watching.”_

_He sighed heavily as he sat up, resigned himself to an awkward conversation with a kid he didn’t know. He ran a hand through his hair before looking up to meet the child’s inquisitive gaze._

_“What’s your name?” The boy asked, reminding him that he had not given it the previous evening, too out of it to form the words._

_“Uh…” Names held a semblance of power, he wasn’t sure if he was ready to hand that over to a child._

_“Don’t worry if you think it’s weird.” The kid tried to reassure him as he wiped tear track residue from his cheeks. “I got you beat on weird.”_

_“Now I’m curious.” He didn’t find his name remotely odd, but now that the kid had admitted his own was unusual, he had to hear it._

_“Mieczysław Nathanial.” His nose scrunched up in distaste as the jumble of words left his mouth._

_“You win.” The kid obviously had not been exaggerating the weird part._

_“Everyone calls me Stiles.” It was a far cry from Mieczysław Nathanial, but he wasn’t nosy enough to ask how you got Stiles out of all that._

_“I’m Juan Carlos or JC.” The kid had been truthful and offered up the monstrosity he’d been saddled with, it was only fair to give his own._

_“Okay, JC. Piney said you could take a shower. The apartment is down there, on the right.” He gestured toward a long hallway, adjacent to where they were sitting. “There are clothes in the dresser. They’ll be big on you though.”_

_“Uh, okay.”_

_He had never really felt comfortable in other people’s bathrooms, but he was aware he smelt rank. Hell, a shower was a shower at this point. He followed the kid's-_ Stiles, _his mind corrected, directions toward the bedroom, finding it had an attached bath. He stripped out of his borrowed sweats and t-shirt, the ones the guy from the previous night had given him, before hopping in._

_The water was blessedly hot. He would have been more than happy to stay under it until it ran cold, but he was a guest and did not want to appear rude. He made quick work of scrubbing away the ungodly amount of dirt, grime, and bodily fluids from his skin and hair, before turning off the faucet and climbing out._

_He found jeans a couple sizes too big, and an oversized tee with an acronym printed on the front in the dresser, as Stiles said they would be. They hung off him like he was a bad hanger, but they were clean and that’s all that mattered._

_When he made his way back to the other room he found the boy in the same position as before, as if he hadn’t moved at all. There was a bowl of apple slices on the table now, in place of the muffins, and two full glasses of milk. He took the expectant look on the kids face as an invitation to take a seat in the open chair across from him._

_“Eat.” Stiles pushed the apples and a cup of milk toward him. “Piney said you should.”_

_He had a feeling the kid put a lot of stock into whatever this Piney guy said._

_“He said you had to eat too.” The boy couldn’t have forgotten that he had been awake and eavesdropping on that discussion. “I’ll eat some if you do.”_

_“I’m not hungry.” He sat back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest, sending the bowl of fruit a glare like it was personally offending him._

_“Your body is.” He took two slices from the bowl, kept one for himself, and held the other out to the boy. “I’m not going to eat unless you do.”_

_“That’s not fair.” The claimed petulantly, jutting out his bottom lip in a pout._

_“No, it’s not, but it’s what I’ll do.” He threatened, waving the fruit in front of the kids face. “You eat and I’ll eat. Deal?”_

_“Deal.” The boy snatched the apple from his fingers, eyed it dubiously, then took a chunk out of it while Juan Carlos did the same._

_“Good?” It was an easy trick, one his older brother had played on him plenty of times._

_“Yes.” Stiles nodded and took a sip of milk. “Did you run away from home?”_

_It was a simple question with a complicated answer, one that fluctuated with his mood. Sometimes he felt like he ran like a coward, to escape the consequences of the horrible things he had done. Some days he told himself he walked away to start a new life, going out west chasing a dream like so many before him._

_On bad nights, when he was sitting in the passenger seat of a big rig, the taste of cum still fresh in his mouth, he would tell himself he was kicked out. He was pushed away by his family, who was supposed to love him. He was left on his own with no place to go but to his knees._

_“Kind of.” He was thrown out. He ran out. It was a bit of both, really._

_“Is someone looking for you?” He could honestly say no, but he did not want a little kid looking at him with pity, so he shrugged his shoulders instead. “The cops?”_

_“No.” Not unless they had found his stepdads body and wanted to question him, though after four years he doubted that would happen._

_“Your family?” The sympathy he didn’t want was on the boys face as if he knew the answer already._

_“No.” He wanted to say yes. He wanted to believe that someone, Angelo or Marianna, would be out looking for him, maybe searching his old haunts. He knew it was bullshit. Marisol would have told them he was gone.  
_

_“Do you have a family?”_

_“Yes.” He would not denounce them as they had done to him._

_“Did they hurt you?” Stiles asked with serious concern._

_It was a loaded question that had a single answer. They had hurt him, emotionally, scarred him in ways that would never fade. He hurt them too, though they would never know it was him, and maybe that made things worse._

_“No, they didn’t hurt me.” The kid was implying physical abuse, eyes scanning his body and detecting the wounds the lay hidden beneath his clothing._

_“You’re just running?” He tilted his head to the side, big brown orbs gazing at him imploringly._

_“I guess.” He had been running for years, one way or another, and this was the farthest he had gotten._

_“You ran to the right place.” The boy decided with a small smile playing on his lips._

_“How’s that?”_

_“The Sons of Anarchy is home to the lost, the jaded, and the disenfranchised,” He stated carefully, as if he was reading from a script. “The outlaws and the anarchists, looking for freedom from the restrictions of society.”_

_“Wow.” He was impressed, both by the kids vocabulary, he sounded like he had swallowed a dictionary at some point, and by the statement itself. “Sons of Anarchy?”_

_“SAMCRO.” Stiles jumped off his chair, came around to his side of the table, and poked at the lettering on the t-shirt Juan Carlos was wearing. “Sons of Anarchy Motorcycle Club Redwood Original.”_

_“Oh.” A feeling of panic clawed at his throat when the realization that he had landed himself in an MC’s clubhouse dawned on him. “Shit.”_

_“They won’t hurt you.” The boy sounded hurt, as if his anxiety was an insult to the club, maybe it was._

_“Sure.” He fought not to roll his eyes at the kid’s naïveté._

_“They helped you last night.” Stiles reminded him defensively, while retreating to his own chair._

_“Why did they help me? What do they want?” They had brought him in, had given him shelter and food, a place to sleep, and they hadn’t asked any questions. He knew enough from his time on the road to know that no one did that for free._

_“Nothing right now.” Yeah, well, it was the possibility of what would come later that scared him. “If you stay, you have to work. Sweeping and mopping the garage and clubhouse, and keeping the bathroom clean.”_

_“Janitorial stuff.” It was a lot better than the conclusions his mind was jumping to. Cleaning up after a bunch of bikers would be a welcome change from having his mouth fucked by some fat truck driver._

_“Do you know anything about cars?”_

_“A little.” He knew the basics, things he had picked up here and there. “Not much.”_

_“They could teach you. Even if you learn, you would be on clean up duty until someone new showed up.” He made it seem as if random people showing up was a normal occurrence, which would explain why that didn’t bat an eyelash to his presence. “You could sleep on the couch or in the apartment, for a while, but not forever. Chibs has an extra room at his house. He would let you use it until you found your own.”_

_“Chibs?” He was not going to entertain the idea of moving in with someone he didn’t know, but he would inquire about the stranger._

_“He helped you in last night. He has an accent and scars. He’s pretty.” The child’s eyes went wide as he seemed to realize what he said. He ducked his head and flushed red. Juan Carlos couldn’t help but smile at the boys embarrassment. “Uh, the other guy, with long hair, he’s my brother Jax.”_

_“Are they members of this club?” He pointed toward the acronym on his shirt. “The Sons of Anarchy?”_

_“Yep. Jax is going to be VP soon, but right now Piney is.” The embarrassment was wiped away, replaced by a proud grin. “He’s going to step down when he thinks Jax is ready. One day Jax is going to president of the entire charter.”_

_“And you’ll be his VP?” It was the wrong thing to ask if the sour look he got in response meant anything._

_“No. Opie, my other brother, will be his VP. He’s the tall one who looks like a bear.” He had a fuzzy memory of seeing a man who matched that description the night before. “I’m not going to be a member.”_

_“Oh.”_

_“Are you going to stay?” Stiles questioned earnestly, pink tingeing his cheeks, suddenly bashful. “You don’t have to join SAMCRO or anything. You could just stay.”_

_“I don’t know.” It was a tempting offer, one that would get him off the streets, off his knees. He wasn’t sure though, he didn’t know if he could trust these people. “I don’t know if I’ll stay.”_

_“You should.” There was hope in his voice, like his staying meant something to the kid, which was ridiculous._

_“Why?” He found himself asking, if only to figure the kid out._

_“I want you to.” Stiles said meaningfully, looking him dead in the eyes as he spoke, making him shift uncomfortably in his seat._

_“You don’t even know me.” They had barely spent a few hours together, if you counted the previous night. They only had one conversation. There was no possible way the kid could draw anything from such a short amount of time._

_“Yes, I do.”_

* * *

He was brought out of the memory when a hand touched his knee, giving it a gentle squeeze. He looked up from the photograph that had led him to the past to meet his mother’s worried eyes. He tried his best to reassure her with a smile, but she didn’t seem convinced.

The picture in his hands was from that day fifteen years ago. He wasn’t sure who took it. Gemma he’d wager. She was the only one sneaky enough to go in and out of the clubhouse without being detected. It was of him and Stiles, sitting at that table, sharing a bowl of apple slices. He wasn’t sure why, out of all the pictures he had gone through, that that one was the one that sent him back to Charming. He shook it out of his head, tried to bring himself back to the present.

“He was an odd kid.” He pointed out Stiles in the photo. It was a sad attempt at deflection. He couldn’t really explain the emotions seeing it brought up.

Stiles words from that day still shook him, how he was adamant he knew him. Juice never understood why he said it, and worse, the way he seemed so damn truthful. Stiles had looked at him like he was seeing all of him, his every lie and his every truth, all his sins. It scared the shit out of him that a kid that young could read him so openly.

“Your sister said you had a night terror the other night.” His mom said conversationally, as if they had been discussing dreams, not looking at pictures. “They had to call him to calm you down.”

“Yeah.” Stiles voice had called to him like a beacon of safety, bringing him out of the nightmare.

“I’m glad you have someone who can do that for you. None of us could manage it when you were a boy and woke up screaming.” Ray had mentioned that he had night terrors before, but he had no memory of waking up with fear in his heart and dread on his mind. “Would you tell me about your nightmare?”

“No.” He shot her down quickly, ignoring the flash of hurt that flickered over her face. “Like I told Ray, I’ve got a trained professional to help me through that mess.”

“You always refused to tell me when you were a child too.” He played his cards close to his chest when he lived in Queens. He never understood what it was about Charming that had him wearing his heart on his sleeve. “Do you tell him? Stiles?”

“Yes.” Stiles was the one who held him while he trembled, who listened to every dirty detail about what had terrorized him while he slept.

It didn’t happen much anymore. After years of therapy that had both come to terms with the things that had happened to them, and the things they had done. They accepted it, didn’t let it lord over their existence. Still, they had their triggers, little things that set them off when they were already feeling vulnerable.

The day he had come to locked in Ray’s grip, he had already felt out of sorts. Marisol’s home was not a place he felt comfortable deeming safe, when he had only spent a short time there. Add the movie about incarcerated men, and it was a recipe for disaster.

“The crap that brings them on now, is part of mine and Stiles’ shared past.” That’s what Charming was. It was their _shared past_. Their _Charming lives_. “It’s got nothing to do with here.”

“You are _my_ son. That makes it my business.” He jerked away from at her tone, at the possessiveness. “I’m sorry, it’s just…there’s so much about your life that I don’t know about.”

“That is not my fault.” He ground out through gritted teeth. “You closed that door, not me.”

She had no right to ask him about what he had been through. None of them did. They had pushed him out as much as he had walked away. She had done it long before his siblings had. Aside from a few short phone calls with Marisol, none of them had tried to reconnect with him, tried to see if he was okay. Lighting a candle at church didn’t mean anything to him, it was them trying to make themselves feel less guilty about turning their backs on him.

“I’m sorry.” She reached out to him, only for him to flinch at the thought of her touching him. “Juan Carlos, I only want to know…”

“What, Mama?” He growled as he dropped the pictures onto the coffee table. “What do you want to know? I gave Ray a piece, told him I was in a motorcycle club. I guess I can give you one too. So, what do you want to know?”

“I-I don’t know.” He let out an impatient noise, because that was really fucking helpful. “How did you get from here to California? How did you get so far away?”

“Marisol gave me a little cash, but it didn’t get me far. I hitchhiked the rest of the way, letting people fuck my mouth to pay my way.” It was her turn to flinch, and he may have taken a bit of satisfaction out of that. “Is that enough truth for you? Is that what you wanted to hear? I wasn’t only a junkie, but a whore too.”

He didn’t give her a chance to respond. He did not want to hear whatever she had to say about it. The shell-shocked look on her face said more than enough.

He gathered the photographs off the table, not wanting to give her anymore of himself. He placed them securely in the manila envelope they made the trip in, before standing. His mother acted as if she might stop him, her arm shooting out, but he wasn’t in the mood for these antics. He bypassed her and made his way to the stairs. His first instinct was to leave out the front door, but a walk wasn’t what he needed right now.

He trudged to the guest room, passing Marisol in the hall without a glance. He shut the door firmly once he was behind it, wishing there was a lock he could turn that would keep everyone out. He would have to trust them to take the hint and leave him be.

Stiles was laid out on the bed when he turned around. He was on his back, blinking sleepily through thick lashes, brows furrowed in concern. He must have seen something in Juice’s composure, because without hesitation he opened his arms and beckoned him over. He was curled up at his husband side in an instant, wrapping himself around him, resting his head on the younger man’s abdomen.

Stiles didn’t say anything at first. He sunk his hands into Juice’s buzzed hair. He ran blunt nails over his scalp soothingly. He felt himself relax into the ministrations, feeling the tension leak from his body.

“I miss the mohawk sometimes.” His husband admitted in a sleep raspy voice. It was such a random statement that it had him laughing despite himself. “What?”

“Nothing.” He chuckled as he rubbed the younger man’s hip. “I miss it too.”

“You miss it because you thought it made you look scary. I miss if because it made you look like a disgruntled puppy when you were mad.” He pinched the exposed skin of Stiles side, in payback for the comment, causing him to giggle. “Ow.”

“I’m not a puppy.” He huffed, turning his head to glare halfheartedly at his husband. “I’m a wolf.”

“You were an overgrown puppy.” He let out what should have been a menacing growl emit from his throat, which only made Stiles smile brighten. “Now you are my big cuddly wolf.”

“I feel like I should be insulted by this.” He murmured against Stiles pelvis. Most men would probably feel emasculated being called a puppy or cuddly, but Stiles said it like an endearment, as if he was calling him honey or baby. There was no hint of the cutesy child-like tone people generally used when saying those words. “But then I remember when we first met, you called Chibs pretty, and I feel better.”

“He was pretty.” There were no red cheeks of embarrassment this time. “Age has upgraded him to ruggedly handsome, though.”

“Chibs was pretty then ruggedly handsome, and I was a puppy then a wolf?” He spluttered indignantly. “I’m insulted now.”

“You are gorgeous. Puppy or wolf, you are gorgeous. Always have been. I’ve always thought so.” There was an amazing amount of sincerity in his eyes, and no uptick in his heart, nothing to indicate a lie. “Any reason you’re fishing for compliments?”

“Wanna feel better about myself.” He replied honestly. “I told my mom some shit. It put me in a dark mood.”

“Want to tell me?” Stiles always kept himself from requesting certain things or ordering Juice to tell him. He always made sure to give him an out.

“I told her I was a whore.” Stiles didn’t falter at the words, didn’t react, his fingers still worked their magic in his hair, and his eyes just gazed at him expectantly. “I told her I gave blowjobs in exchange for rides to get to California.”

“That doesn’t make you a whore.” He was pretty sure that was exactly what it made him. “You did what you had to do to survive. There is no shame in that.”

Stiles had the remarkable ability to spin Juice’s bad thoughts until everything was upside down. He took every bad thing that Juice had done, or that had been done to him, and made Juice see the other side of things. He always said them with so much conviction that Juice started believing them as well.

“You understand me?” Stiles' tone was forceful, making it clear there was a correct response, but his eyes said something else. They were pleading with him to get it, to see himself the way he did.

“Yes.” He learned over the years to think differently about his past. Stiles and his shrink had taught him that. On bad days, like this one, he fell back on old thought processes, but he could always count on Stiles to pull him back. “I understand.”

“Good.” He gave a small smile before stilling, and glowering at him. “Did she say something to you about it?”

Stiles was already pulling at the blankets, as if he would climb out of bed. He already made up his mind about the situation. He was going to bolt out the door and confront his mother, put her in her place with a few well placed jabs.

“No.” He rolled on top of his husband to keep him from moving, straddling his legs. “She didn’t say anything. I left her speechless.”

“If she says something…”

“I know. You aren’t afraid to go toe-to-toe with her.” Stiles had gone up against Gemma for years. His mother was nowhere near as terrifying as the MC matriarch. “No need. It’s all good.”

“Promise?” Stiles asked worriedly, trailing a finger along the line of Juice’s jaw.

“I promise.” He sat back on his haunches, wrapped his fingers around Stiles wrist, and brought it to his lips to kiss his palm of his hand. “I’m not going to fool myself into thinking you won’t corner her later to give her some _advice_. Just go easy on her. I dropped a bomb on her today, and not in a nice way. So don’t do that thing you do.”

“What thing?”

“Where you smack people around with your words.” Stiles opened his mouth to argue, but Juice cut him off before he could. “You get protective and you go for the jugular. I’m asking you to play nice.”

“I will try.” Trying was better than nothing. “Are you okay? Giving her that information couldn’t have been easy.”

“It’s a little unnerving.” He hadn’t actually meant to say it. His temper had gotten the better of him and it just came out. “I’m alright. I am sure I will end up sharing more than I intend to while we’re here, but that’s fine. I won’t have to live with how it makes them look at me for long. Couple of weeks and we’ll be back home.”

“That’s a switch from what you said before.” Stiles pointed out, raising a brow in confusion. “I thought we were playing happy and well-adjusted.”

“I’m not going to offer up my sins on a platter for them.” He would not give that information up willingly, but sometimes things are said in the heat of the moment. “If things happen to come out, then I will deal with it. I am not going to let it bring me down and ruin our trip.”

“Okay.” Stiles gave him a thoughtful look, reminiscent of the one eight year old him had so long ago. “For the record, the happy home thing, is for the kid’s sake, and holds no bearing on my actual emotional state. But, I am happy. It might not seem like it sometimes, my head gets so lost, but I am happy with you. Don’t ever think I’m not.”

“I know that.” He caressed the hand he held in his. “I am too. Our lives aren’t exactly what we wanted them to be, but I’m still happy with you. That’s something I hadn’t felt for a really long time in Charming.”

It was before Belfast, that things started going downhill, and his mind started warring with itself. He could pinpoint it back to when he was shanked in county. That was when he started losing faith in himself, and in the club. It was when they used him as bait. They treated him as if he was a commodity to be traded. Yeah, that was when it started.

“One day, we’re going to go, you know that?” He whispered it between them like a promise, because that is exactly what it was. “We are going to hop on our bikes and go, and we will never have to come back.”

“God, that sounds nice.” Stiles said breathlessly. “Just us, right? No kids. No pack. No club. Just us?”

“Just us.”

Someday, they were going to make a break for it. They were going to ride until they couldn’t anymore. They would eat cheap diner food and camp out in a tent, instead of staying in a cramped motel. They would make love under the stars every night. They would keep going until they found somewhere that truly felt like home. One day, they would escape and it was going to be just the two of them, like it always should have been.

“Just us.” He repeated as he lay back down, head pillowed on his husbands abdomen.

“We sleeping the day away?” Stiles questioned as his fingers found their way back into Juice’s hair.

“Unless you have any objections.” His eyes were already feeling heavy at the prospect of sleep. “We’ll get up early enough to get ready for dinner with your grandparents, okay?”

“Okay.”

* * *

 

Stiles found Antonia in the kitchen, sitting at the table with Marisol. They were speaking in hushed tones, like they were sharing a secret. He could guess what it was, and knew it was not their secret to share.

“Everyone all caught up?” He asked as he pulled out a chair, startling them both when he sat down.

“What?” Marisol’s eyes flickered to her mother, an inscrutable look on her face.

“Ray had no problem giving away what Juice had told him in confidence. Though, he did it to make Juice look bad in your eyes.” He had a feeling Antonia’s reasoning was quite different. “You need someone to vent to. I get that. He will understand too. Heavy shit he dumped on you. It’s only natural that you would need a shoulder to cry on.”

“Do you have something to say to me?” Antonia spread her arms wide over the table, a gesture to show him that he had the proverbial floor.

“Do you want to know your son?” He tilted his head to the side inquiringly. “Do you want to know what he’s been through?”

“Yes.” Of course she did. She was a mother who wanted to know anything she could about her son. “You’re not going to tell me, though.”

“No, I’m not.” He would never betray his husbands trust. “If you want him to tell you anything, then you are going to have to wipe that look off your face, and those thoughts out of your head.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Don’t treat him like a victim. Do not look at him like he is tarnished or broken.” Juice was none of those things, and Stiles would strike down anyone who told him differently. “You look at him like that, and he will shut you out. You won’t even get him in the same room with you. He will avoid you for the rest of our time here, and then he will forget to answer the phone when you call to check in on him once we’re home.”

“I don’t want that.” She claimed, voice thick with emotion. “I will not lose my son again.”

“Then look at him for what he is, not what you think he is.” He was not a fuck up, like his brother thought he was. He was not a traitor, as SAMCRO had labeled him. He was not weak. He sure as hell was not a victim. “Juice has the unwavering ability to survive any and all situations he is put in. He has walked through a hell that you couldn’t begin to imagine, and he is still standing. Anything he has ever done was to keep himself alive, and to protect the people he loves. To call him a victim undermines all of that. He’s a survivor. Refer to him as anything less and it is an insult to how hard he has worked to get where he is. So you look at him and see him for what he is.”

“A survivor.” She said it like a prayer, as if she was making herself believe it on the spot, in that very second.

“He’s a good man. A father. A husband. A brother. A friend.” He was so much more than his scars. “A son.”

He let that sit there. He watched the words sink in to both Antonia and Marisol. He could see the moment it truly registered in their hearts, as well as their minds. He received identical looks of approval, and maybe thanks, as he stood from his chair.

“Did you get that out of your system?” Juice asked nonchalantly from his place in the doorway, where he had been listening in not so sneakily. Stiles had spotted him the minute he came in.

“Yes.” Though he might have to repeat himself to a few other Ortiz’s if certain information was spread around. “Was I gentle enough? Or was I too harsh? You said I get mean when I get like that.”

“You did fine.” He sent Stiles an appreciative smile, the one he reserved just for them. “Be honest, you had that speech written before you came down those stairs.”

“It’s possible.” He might have thought long and hard about it, while Juice had napped on top of him.

“Are you ready to go?” The older man questioned, sending a cautious glance toward his mother and sister. “We’re having dinner with his grandparents tonight.”

“I remember you saying that. You can take my car.” Marisol held her keys out to Stiles. “Keep in mind I need it to get to work in the morning.”

“We’ll be back tonight.” There was no way in hell they were staying at his grandparent’s house any longer than they had to.

“I was nice enough to give you a rundown of my family tree before we got here,” Juice gave him a pointed look. “I’m all ears. I don’t want to go in blind.”

“Right, so, Grandma is Phoebe. She’s a character.” That was putting it mildly. “Grandpa is Mieczysław.”

“Who you were named after.” Unfortunately, yeah, that was true. He loved his grandpa, but hated the name.

“We’ve have a blended family. My mom and aunts were adopted.” He was sure he had shown Juice a picture once, so it wouldn’t be much of a surprise. “Given how hard it was for interracial couples to get married in their day, adopting kids was tough, but they did it.”

“You have three aunts, yeah?”

“You will only meet Sawyer and Cassidy, and that’s only if they are in town and not working.” They were both busy people. He wouldn’t blame them for bailing on dinner. “Cassidy works for some newspaper, and Sawyer is a private investigator.”

“The third one lives out of town or something?” He fought to keep himself neutral at the question. Juice wasn’t prying for information. He was just curious.

“Or something.” He grumbled. “I don’t know where Sloa- where she is. She won’t be there, though.”

“Okay.” Bless his husband for dropping it without asking any more questions. “We need to head out or we will be late.”

“Let’s go then.”

* * *

 

It turned out that Stiles wasn’t lying when he said his grandmother was a character. She was eccentric Irish woman, with piercing green eyes. She fluttered around like she was filled to the brim with energy. She pulled him and Stiles into hugs as they came in. It was her smile that put Juice off, there was something about it that unsettled him but he let it go as the night progressed, chalking it up to his own inability to trust on site.

Mieczysław was another thing all together. He was a quiet African American man, whose years showed clearly on face. He had an aura of strength that his wife did not. He was calm, if not a little stoic. His eyes showed nothing but love when they looked Stiles way. He reminded Juice a bit of Piney, which is why it didn’t surprise him when his husband gravitated into the man’s space.

Phoebe and Mieczysław’s relationship seemed to be the definition of opposites attract. Phoebe was affectionate and friendly, also a bit flaky, and, well, the nice word would be quirky. Mieczysław was placid, humble, but kind and gentle. Their differences worked for them, balanced them out. It was clear after all the years they had been together, they were still completely in love. It was sweet to watch, actually.

The two aunts Stiles said might show, Sawyer and Cassidy, had not. They were both caught up at work but had left word that they would track Stiles down before they headed back to Oregon. No one mentioned the other aunt, and Juice wondered if she was the bad seed of the family, banished for poor behavior.

Shortly into the evening, Stiles had been tasked to help with dinner, and was whisked away by his grandmother. It left Juice alone in the living room with Mieczysław. The older man was kicked back in a recliner, with a bunny sitting on his lap, which was hilariously odd given the man’s gruff exterior.

“Her name is Popcorn.” Mieczysław told him as he petted between the animal’s ears. “The neighbors bought her for their kids on Easter. After the holiday, the kids didn’t want her. They left her in a box on the stoop, in the pouring rain. The poor thing was freezing.”

“You rescued her.” He would say that was adorable, but he doubted the older man would appreciate it.

“She did nothing to deserve that treatment. She didn’t ask to be tossed away.” It was easy to see how this guy adopted four orphans. He obviously had a lot of empathy for the lost and abandon. “She’s a good girl. You and Stiles have any pets?”

“The kids have been dropping some not so subtle hints about getting a dog. I’m more of a cat person.” Which was all kinds of contradictory considering he was a wolf. “Stiles has crows. The boys hate them.”

“The can't really play with birds, probably find them boring.” Abel and Thomas were terrified of them, but yeah, the crows were probably boring to them as well. “Birds are better than the snake he hid under his bed when he was a kid.”

“I heard that story.” It was hard to hide a smirk when he realized how damn frightened John was of snakes. Hearing him tell the story of finding a huge one under Stiles’ bed always had him stifling a laugh. “Wasn’t really surprised to learn Stiles would hide a snake in his room.”

“Kids will be kids.” Mieczysław said wistfully. “How is my grandson? He plays the ‘I’m fine’ card well, but it’s never actually fine.”

“Fine is his default answer.” Most people accepted it without question. They didn’t care enough to look deeper. “It was rough for a while. It will be rough again, I’m sure. He’s okay, though.”

“John sends me pictures every so often. He sent a wedding photo of the two of you, a few years back.” Juice furrowed his brows in confusion, because that was not possible. “He looked happy. He sent a photo of the two of you and your boys on Christmas. There was a big smile on Stiles face, and light in his eyes. I’d say he’s doing better than okay.”

“We don’t have any wedding pictures.” He didn’t know why he was so stuck on that, when Mieczysław was trying to have a serious discussion about Stiles well being, but whatever. “We got married at the courthouse.”

“You think Johnny would let his boy get married without snapping a few photos to commemorate the occasion?” He shot Juice an _are you an idiot_ look as he took a framed photo off the side table and offered it out to him.

It was most certainly from that day. He and Stiles were standing close together, the Justice of the Peace barely visible behind them. They were leaned in, foreheads touching, gazing adoringly into each other’s eyes. They looked like two newly married men, ecstatic that they would be starting a life together. What the camera didn’t catch were the tears Stiles kept at bay. It did not capture the fear over the prospect of what was coming later in the day.

“So much was going on that day. I guess we didn’t notice the camera flash.” He admitted sadly, as he handed the photograph back. “I never thought to ask John if he took pictures.”

“John speaks highly of you.” Yeah, that was something he did not think he would ever get used to.

“It wasn’t always that way.” John had never hated him, he knew that much. He didn’t approve of his relationship with Stiles while he was still underage, which was understandable. He never tried to put an end to their relationship, so that was something. “He’s a good man. I have a lot of respect for him. He’s taken it upon himself to be the dad I always needed.”

“I wasn’t very accepting of him at first. He was a little older than my Claudia, had a dangerous job, no family outside his kid, and he was going to keep my little girl on the other side of the country.” He could see how that might be a little off-putting to a father. “One look at him with his boy, of he and Claudia with that child, and it all clicked in to place. There was so much love in his heart that he gave to Claudia and Stiles. They brought her into their little family like she was always meant to be there. It breaks my heart to know that it was over so quickly. They were robbed of a chance at a long life together. They should have had more time. It just wasn’t fair.”

“There is never enough time. You hold on to what you have for as long as you can, because one day it will be gone.” Juice repeated a variation of what Stiles had told him that night five years ago, on Derek’s rooftop. “I used to rest easy at night, knowing that, statistically, I would die first. I’ve got ten years on Stiles, it only made sense I would go first. I was never going to have to live without him. Then he had to go and inherit the family flaw, that heart condition…”

“Put you on even ground.” Mieczysław acknowledged with a grim smile.

“More or less.” As a werewolf, he did not catch diseases or age as humans did. He became painfully aware, sitting in the hospital room while the doctors diagnosed Stiles, of the very real possibility that he would outlive his husband. “The bastard.”

“You really love him, don’t you?” It was more of a statement than a question, but he felt the need to answer anyway.

“Yes sir, I do.” Stiles loved him just the same, he never doubted that.

“Thank you.” The older man said sincerely, making Juice feel like he passed some sort of test that he didn’t know he was taking.

“Dinner’s about ready you two,” Phoebe stuck her head in from the kitchen. “To the dining room with the both of you.”

“Yes dear.”

The woman disappeared back behind the doorway as Juice and Mieczysław stood. He followed the older man into the dining room where several dishes of food were already displayed on the table. There were also five place settings, rather than four, but he didn’t pay it any mind as they sat down.

“Suppose she forgot the girls couldn’t make it.” Mieczysław pondered as he eyed the extra place setting.

“Should we be helping bring things in?” It was the polite thing to do.

“Not unless you want to be smacked with a wooden spoon.” He warned, casting a superstitious glance toward the kitchen. “Phoebe is incredibly territorial of her kitchen. I risk my life trying to grab a cup of coffee while she’s making breakfast.”

“See, I risk my life if I try to keep Stiles away from the coffee while I’m making breakfast.” He quipped, causing the man to chuckle. “He’s got a two pot a day habit, that neither I nor his cardiologist can break him of.”

“My grandson is very stubborn.”

“Yes, he is.” He was one of the most stubborn people Juice had ever met.

“Can I make a suggestion?” He nodded. He would take all the help he could get to convince Stiles to take his health seriously. “Get the children to guilt trip him. It’s a dirty play, but when it comes to his health, it might be the only way to get him to listen.”

“You’re probably right.” It was the method he had been saving as a last resort.

“Right about what?” Stiles questioned as he and Phoebe came in carrying trays of food.

“How stubborn you are.” Juice answered as Stiles sat next to him.

“It’s a Stilinski trait.” His husband joked, and he wasn’t about to correct him by saying it was more something he probably received Gemma, not John.

“The food looks great Mrs. – “ The glare she sent him rivaled the one his mom had given Stiles when he flubbed her name. “Phoebe. It looks delicious.”

“Thank you. I use all natural foods. No pesticides or anything processed. Nothing treated with chemicals.” She explained as she passed a bowl of salad around. “It’s all one hundred percent organic and vegetarian. We do not eat animals in this family.”

“I haven’t had a piece of meat since 1964.” Mieczysław muttered, looking as if he was in actual pain because of it. “The things we do for love.”

“One of those things is not letting that bunny eat on the table.” Phoebe chastised her husband who had let the animal he had been holding roam the table. “Get her off the table.”

“You set out a plate for her.” The old man gestured to the extra setting.

“That is not for her. Put her on your lap or on the floor.” He seemed perturbed but set the bunny in his lap anyway. “Thank you.”

“I thought Sawyer and Cassidy couldn’t make it?” Stiles cut in. “Who’s coming?”

“Don’t worry about that, doll.” She reached over to pat Stiles hand reassuringly. “Wishful thinking, maybe.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Mieczysław asked his wife.

“Eat your food, honey.” Flighty or not, it was clear who wore the pants in the relationship. “How is work, Stiles?”

“Fine.” It was a knee-jerk reaction for Stiles to answer that way. He could see the way he second-guessed himself the moment the word left his mouth. “The garage is doing great. Juice runs it all on his own.”

“That’s not true.” He handled most of it, but Stiles found ways to help him, whether it was by fixing some of the cars or doing the books. “It is doing great, though.”

“And the kids are well?” They both gave her nods as they dug into their food. “Any chance of another one at some point? You could always adopt more.”

“Fuck no.” Stiles spit out around a mouthful of salad.

“Don’t speak with food in your mouth.” Mieczysław scolded.

“Sorry.” He apologized. “No, Gram, no more children for us. The two we have are enough.”

“You are breaking my heart.” She pouted. “Your mother always wanted a big family.”

“I’m not her.” Stiles never wanted kids, Juice knew that, apparently his grandparents did not.

“It always made me so sad that she and your father never had children together.” She mused aloud then caught herself. “Not that you aren’t enough, sweetheart.”

“Right.”

“You’re from Queens, Juice?” Mieczysław changed the subject.

“Yeah, born and raised.” That was really all he wanted to say about it. “I moved to California when I was eighteen.”

“Did you move for school?”

“No. Wanderlust took me there mostly.” He lied easily. California was never a set destination. It was just where his travels took him. “Ended up finding work and family there, and decided to stay.”

“Claudia went out to California to bail her sister Sawyer out of jail, and ended up in a cell right next to her.” Phoebe laughed at the memory. “Fell in love with the deputy that arrested her, and never came back except to visit.”

“I, for one, am thankful for aunt Sawyer getting arrested.” Stiles piped up. “It worked out in my favor. I got a mom out of the deal.”

The sound of the front door opening put a halt on any conversation they might have been having. While the men in the room were sharing looks of confusion, Phoebe seemed absolutely delighted as she stood up to welcome the visitor. A skinny woman with blonde hair and hazel eyes strode into the dining room, as carefree as she liked.

“Hi Mommy.” She greeted Phoebe who brought her into a hug.

“My baby is finally home.” She cooed loudly, sounding a bit teary.

“Oh, Phoebe, what have you done?” Mieczysław asked, his tone sounding almost deadly.

Juice took in his husband then. Stiles had gone rigid, averted his gaze. Any mirth that had been in his expression was gone now. His breathing was ragged and his heartbeat, fuck, it was deafeningly loud to Juice’s ears. He was paler than usual, which was saying something. The worst part, was that he recognized the look of abject terror on Stiles face, he could assume who put it there, but didn’t know why.

“Stiles?” He whispered softly, reaching a hand under the table to touch his husband’s wrist, only for him to flinch away violently.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Stiles tone was hushed and hurried. “I didn’t mean to.”

“It’s okay.” He did not move to touch him again, seeing it wouldn’t be welcome. “Are you – “

“There’s my favorite nephew.” The woman moved away from her mother and grinned with wild eyes in Stiles direction. “Hello, Miecz.”

The nickname seemed to kick start something in the younger man. Juice watched him take a deep breath before an emotionless mask covered his face. His heartbeat the only thing giving away his nerves, as he glanced up at the woman.

“Hi, aunt Sloan.” His voice sounded so wrong to Juice’s ears. It had a dark and eerie quality to it that he had never heard before.

“You grew up so handsome.” She gushed and he swore his wolf senses had to be off, because what he smelt beneath her cheap perfume could not possibly be what he thought it was. “I always knew you would. Didn’t I always say that you would?”

“That is enough, Sloan.” Mieczysław’s palm came down on the surface of the table, the bang of it reverberating through the room. “You know you shouldn’t be here.”

“I couldn’t stay away.” She admitted, her eyes not straying from Stiles. “Mommy told me Miecz was coming to dinner and I had to see him.”

A fleeting look of betrayal crossed Stiles face before it was replaced by a hard glare. Juice could sense a lot of shit going on in this room, emotions being thrown every which way. He didn’t like it. It was all wrong.

“You need to leave.” Mieczysław told his daughter. “Go get a motel room. We will talk about this in the morning.”

“Daddy, I just got here.”

“I don’t care.”

“It’s fine.” Stiles spoke for the first time since greeting his aunt. “We are leaving. Now.”

“Don’t be like that, Miecz.” Sloan drawled. “I’ve missed you so –“

“Let’s go.” Stiles urged and Juice did not need to be told a third time.

* * *

 

Stiles had remained rather closed lipped during the drive back to Queens. He didn’t speak to Juice, but he muttered things quietly to himself. Juice knew those words weren’t for his ears, so he tuned them out the best he could. He wanted to say something, but put it off. The last thing he wanted was for his husband to feel trapped in the confines of the car.

The younger man took the stairs that led to the guest room two at a time as soon as they entered Marisol’s house. He didn’t even spare a glance at the occupants of the living room as he passed. Juice stalled, instead of following, letting himself take a breath.

“Is everything okay?” His sister questioned with concern.

“I have no clue.” He replied honestly, dropping the car keys into her palm.

He steeled himself as he made his way up the staircase. He was hoping Stiles would offer up answers, some explanation for his out of character behavior, without him having to ask. Somehow, he did not think it would be that easy.

Stiles had already stripped out of his clothes and in to his sleep pants, and the SAMCRO hoody he favored. The choice of sweaters was telling enough, he only wore that when he needed to feel protected. He was lying on top of the covers with his head leaned against the pillows, and a sullen expression on his face.

“Are you okay?” He inquired as he closed the door.

“Always.” Stiles answered quickly. Too quickly.

“Rethink your answer.” He didn’t accept that anymore than he accepted ‘I’m fine’ when Stiles spewed that at him. _“Are you okay?”_

“I will be okay.” That was good to know, but not what he asked. “I feel…angry and depressed.”

“Anxious too.” Stiles nodded as Juice joined him in bed, keeping a measured distance between them. It was the natural thing to do when they were feeling shaky. “Is it something you feel like you can tell me?”

“It was a long time ago. I worked really hard to put it behind me.” He reached out to take Juice’s hand in his. He held it in front of his face, toyed with his fingers. “Sloan isn’t allowed to be around me. No contact whatsoever. I hadn’t seen her in twelve years until tonight. It was a bit of shock, to say the least.”

“Why isn’t she allowed near you?” He took a chance in asking, hoping it didn’t seem like he was pushing.

“Part of the deal they made to keep her out of jail. It was a stipulation, along with her being admitted to a psychiatric facility here in New York. I’m not sure if that ever happened either.” He sighed, sounding more despondent as he went on. “Use your imagination and I’m sure you can figure out the why. I’ll tell you. I will. Just not here. When we get home, I’ll tell you. When we’re…”

“Safe.” He finished, understanding how hard it was for Stiles to remember the past in an unfamiliar place.

“I am safe with you.” He turned his head to look him in the eye. “But she’s too close.”

“I’ll never let her hurt you.” He vowed, his heart ratcheting in his chest, because none of this was right.

He had never seen Stiles so dejected over someones presence, had never seen him scared, not like this. He had seen Stiles stand up to plenty of people. He had never shown fear in the face of the enemy. There was something about that woman that had Stiles looking haunted and humiliated, a terrifying combination.

“My first instinct was to leave instead of shut down.” There was a hint of a smile on his lips. “That was good. Yay me. Maybe my brain finally wired itself together correctly.”

“She really hurt you, didn’t she?” He questioned softly, feeling Stiles quiver against him, which was answer enough. “Whatever it was, it will never happen again.”

“I won’t let it happen.” That conviction was back, just as strongly as it had been that morning when he was telling Juice he wasn’t a whore. “You won’t let it happen, either.”

“I won’t let anything happen to you.” He would do everything in his power to make sure his husband was safe, from anyone and anything that could harm him.

“I know. I know that.” Stiles turned on his side to face him, curling his broken hand to his chest, and lifting the other to run it down Juice's face, an echo of how he had earlier. This time, he was taking comfort as much as he was giving it. “I’m sorry we couldn't finish dinner.”

“Don’t be stupid, Stiles.” He apologized for every little thing when he was feeling like crap.

“You seemed like you were getting along with grandpa Mieczysław.” He noted. “He’s great, right?”

“Yeah. He really loves you.” That was incredibly obvious in the way the older man had spoken about him. “Reminds me of Piney.”

“Yeah.” He nodded slowly before the scent of grief surrounded him. “I really miss Piney.”

“Me too.”

“He used to look after me. He and Donna. When everyone else was busy.” He smiled sadly. “Then when you showed up, you got added to the list of _Stiles’ Babysitters_.”

“You were an odd kid.” He repeated his earlier sentiment. “You were also the one who told me I should stay in Charming.”

“Should I apologize for that?”

“No.” He answered without hesitation. “It was the first place that ever felt like home. I regret things I did there. I hate things that happened to me there. I never regret staying.”

“I’m actually glad to hear that.” He grinned faintly. “Fuck, we’ve been having a lot of heavy discussions lately.”

“Hazards of the damage, baby.” He hooked a leg around Stiles hip to pull him closer. “When it rains it pours. It will dry out eventually.”

“It’ll settle.” Stiles agreed. “It always does.”

* * *

 

Juice awoke in the dead of night, heart pounding in his chest. It wasn’t the first time he had been pulled from sleep in the recent hours. Stiles had pulled him from his slumber once, whimpering out nonsense, stuck in a nightmare. He had consoled the younger man until he drifted back off.

It was an old feeling that shocked him awake this time, a feeling of needing to dole out damage to the person deserving of it. He hadn’t felt that since he lived in Charming. In the back of his mind, he had a target. He even had a list of reason that were not confirmed as of yet.

The urge to take care of business, to protect what was his, was so strong that it had him climbing out of bed. He made a move toward the dresser with every intention of getting dressed and heading out for a little while. He would go to Staten Island, and ensure that woman, Sloan, would never even think about Stiles again. Of course, he would trip over a pair of shoes, not paying enough attention to where he was going, and knock Stiles unzipped duffle and all of its contents onto the floor in the process of doing just that.

He swore under his breath, cast a glance back to his husband who was still, thankfully, snoring away, deep in sleep. He crouched down and began gathering the clothes and miscellaneous things, placing them back in the bag until two items in particular caught his eye. A folded up piece of paper and a flip phone, kept together by a rubber band.

The phone had no calls made or received. It was a prepay, with no minutes loaded on to it. The paper explained the phone. There was a number scribbled on the top, with a San Joaquin area code. It was the names and how they were written out that had a shiver running down his spine.

RON TULLY → ETHAN ZOBELLE

AB → RON TULLY

LINCOLN POTTER?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next: A pack member unexpectedly shows up in Queens. Stiles gets a job offer. Juice makes it known exactly how far he will go to protect his family.  
> Maybe two or three more chapters in Queens, then the boys are headed back to the west coast to deal with some unfinished business.  
> [TUMBLR](http://www.stilinski-ortiz.tumblr.com/)  
> [Youtube](https://www.youtube.com/user/SandM1827/)  
> Thank you for all the comments and kudos, they are greatly appreciated.


	6. What Was That For?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ubeta'd.  
> Chapter title comes from: Take Me Somewhere Nice by Mogwai.  
> Warnings: Mentions of past sexual abuse and torture.

He had a hard time leaving Stiles alone in the morning. He needed a visual reminder, to see with his own two eyes, that Stiles was safe. It was that need that kept him at Stiles side long after he had awoken. Of course, he was also restless, tossing and turning in bed, thanks to pent up energy. It wasn’t long after he had woken up that he received a sharp kick to the shin.

“Either stop squirming or get out of bed.” His husband ordered gruffly. “You are driving me crazy.”

“Sorry.” He kissed the side of Stiles head before climbing carefully out of bed, as instructed. “I’m going to make some coffee. Do you want a cup? As if I even have to ask.”

“Do I want…?” Stiles mumbled and reached for his phone, cursing when the backlight blinded him. “No. No. I do not want coffee. Do you want to know why? It is six-thirty in the morning and I am on vacation. The only thing I want to do is go back to sleep, preferably with you next to me, but if you are going to be a fidgety asshole, then you can go.”

“Okay.” He forgot what a douchebag Stiles could be in the morning. “Hopefully, you will wake up in a better mood.”

“Hopefully, I will wake up at a reasonable hour.” Yeah, that was fair.

“I give it forty-five minutes before you come looking for a warm body to curl up next to.” Stiles did not sleep well on his own. He would do it if he had to, but if he knew Juice was in the general vicinity, he would come find him.

“I’m too tired to deny it.” The younger man muttered, burying his head in the pillow. “Love you.”

“Love you.” He pulled the comforter up and around his husband’s body. “We will talk about your little hit list later.”

“My what?”

“Go back to sleep.” He grabbed the laptop from the spot on the dresser before he headed downstairs.

The house seemed to be void of anyone else, thankfully. The half a pot of coffee that was still warm told him Marisol had been up and left for work already. He poured himself a cup before making his way into the living room and settling into the recliner.

He tried to talk himself out of what he was going to do as the computer booted up. It was the lesser of two evils, really. The part of him that still thought like a Son wanted to commit murder in the most gruesome fashion, even without all the facts on hand, but that hadn’t worked out well in the past. If he wanted to do something, he had to be smart about it. He could not go off half-cocked and hope for the best. He had to be meticulous and do it by the book.

Okay, he would do things _mostly_ by the book. If anything, this exercise was going to stretch his hacking ability. It had been a while since he had needed to use them.

The databases he was working his way into were not local, he doubted New York held any of the information he was looking for. As he searched through files, he willfully avoided certain things, he did not want to pry for information Stiles was not ready to give him, didn’t want to break his trust. He couldn’t look for the _why_ , for the exact nature of what happened, that was Stiles’ truth to tell. He just wanted to see the consequences, the court documents showing what punishment had been handed down.

He kept his search in Beacon Hills, but repeatedly hit walls when trying to access anything. Every file that had a variation of Stiles name was blocked with firewalls that even he hadn’t come across before. He assumed it was a combination of Stiles having been the sheriff’s son and a minor at the time, that afforded him the extra protection. He was both irritated and appreciative that someone would go to such a length to protect Stiles by putting the files under such a powerful lock and key.

“Hey,” A male voice sounded loudly beside him, pulling him from the zone of coding he had lost himself in. “Earth to Juan Carlos.”

He looked up from his laptop to see Ray and Roxanne sitting on the couch across from him, and his mother coming in from the kitchen. It sort of confirmed his idea that they had some sort of schedule made up to insure he was never without one of them. He didn’t know if he found that sentiment sweet or suffocating.

“Why are you here at six-thirty in the morning?” He could have been more polite, but whatever.

“It’s eight.” Roxanne pointed to the clock on the wall, which did in fact read eight o’clock.

“Fuck.” He hadn’t even realized that much time had passed. “My skills are seriously out of shape.”

That was what he got for living more of less on the straight and narrow. His computer hacking abilities had taken a nosedive in the recent years. He used to keep up on all the new software, but he hadn't needed to since he left SAMCRO.

“What skills?” Ray scoffed, as if the thought of Juice being skilled at anything was laughable.

“Mind your business, Ray.” Like hell, he would give any more ammunition to his oldest brother.

“We brought breakfast.” Roxanne gestured to the box from a bakery sitting on the coffee table.

“Donuts.” He scrunched up his nose. “I’ll pass, but thanks.”

“I don’t remember you being so picky about what you ate.” His mother mused as she sat next to his brother on the sofa. “You used to eat anything set in front of you. Ate like you were a bottomless pit too.”

“I used to do a lot of things I don’t do anymore.” He said pointedly, before he could really think about it. She saw the meaning behind it, looked a bit stricken, which made him feel guilty. “I’m sorry about yesterday, Mama. I didn’t mean to be a dick, or to be so blunt.”

“It’s alright, sweetheart.” She smiled softly, letting him know he had been forgiven over his misstep the day before.

“What the fuck did you do to be a dick to mom, yesterday?” Apparently, they were back to disliking each other over their relationship with their mother again.

“Mind your business, Raymond.” It was his moms turn to say to his brother, who looked put out by the admonishment. “How was dinner with Stiles grandparents?”

“Fine.” He shrugged, using Stiles go-to answer.

The mention of dinner brought his focus back to the task at hand. He returned his gaze to the computer screen and tried to think of anything he could to work around using Stiles name in his search, because that was getting him absolutely nowhere.

“What are you doing?” Ray asked sternly, as if he knew whatever it was couldn’t possibly be legal.

“Working.” Technically, it was work, just not the regular variety.

“Aren’t you supposed to be on vacation?”

“Yep.” Vacation never meant vacation. “I got up early, thought I would get some stuff done.”

“What kind of work could you do for a garage, when you are across the country from it?” Suddenly, he felt like he was being interrogated.

“Receipts, the budget, the books.” There were multiple things he could do without actually having to be at the garage. He was not doing any of them, but his brother did not need to know that. “There is more to owning a garage than being a grease monkey. Just as I am sure there is more to being a teacher than grading papers.”

He let that line of questioning drop there as an idea hit him. He searched a different surname, of those who weren’t underage when the documentation was filed. He nearly crowed in success when he found what he hoped he was looking for deep in the Beacon Hills County Court records. Most of it was blacked out, such as certain names and details, but others were not.

“Hey, is Mari’s printer this deskjet connected to the wifi?” He inquired, knowing he couldn’t risk staying locked into the courthouse's database long enough to read the document.

“Yeah, it’s the one sitting over there.” His mom refered to the printer on the desk in the far corner of the room.

“Okay.” He pressed the print button quickly, and made a mental note to call John and let him know it was him, on the off chance that he didn’t cover his tracks well enough, before disconnecting from the archive. Really, it was the courthouses fault for digitizing all of its records and placing them on a server accessible via the internet.

“Christ, you’re morning people.” Stiles sleep heavy voice dragged his eyes upward.

His husband eyed them all dubiously as he stumbled tiredly into the room. He was barely awake, that much was obvious. He was scrubbing at his eyes and his sweatshirt sleeves were pulled over his fists.

“You lasted longer than I thought you would.” He made it past the forty-five minute mark.

“You didn’t come back to bed.” The was most definitely a pout coming from his husbands mouth as he stopped in front of the chair Juice sat in.

“You told me if I was going to keep fidgeting then I should go.” He reminded the younger man as he closed the laptop and placed it on the coffee table.

“I didn’t mean it.” He couldn’t help but laugh at his petulance.

“I told you that you would come looking for someone to curl up with.” He put a shit-eating grin on his face as he kicked back the recliner, beckoning his husband over.

“You are not the only warm body in this house.” Stiles crossed his arms over his chest defiantly.

“That’s right, darling, you come here.” Roxanne patted the empty spot next to her on the sofa. “You can cuddle with me.”

“Roxanne.” Ray shook his head disapprovingly.

“Nope.” Juice told her before grabbing Stiles around the waist and yanking him onto the chair with him.

Stiles let out an _oomph_ but did not seem to mind the manhandling. He couldn’t do much but lay on top of him, letting his head rest of in the crook of Juice’s neck.

“You going back to sleep?” He asked as he felt Stiles relax against him, his breathing beginning to even out.

“Of course not, that would be rude.” He murmured drowsily.

“As long as you’re up, there’s food to eat.” Roxanne told him and Stiles lifted his head just a fraction to spy the breakfast items.

“Does that donut have bacon on it?” The younger man questioned with furrowed brows.

“Yep.”

“That’s disgusting.” He sounded in awe of the monstrosity.

“You want it?” She held it out to him.

“Yeah.” He sat up and snatched the donut from her, taking a big chunk out of it unceremoniously. “Not bad. You want a bite?”

“Not even a little.” Juice grimaced.

“Do you two have any plans for the day?” His mom asked out of nowhere. “Anywhere to be?”

“No.” He answered for both of them, before recognizing the all too curious look on his mother’s face. “Why?”

“Stiles and I haven’t had the chance to get to know each other yet.” She said it so casually, no ill intent intended, but still he felt Stiles tense like she had just threatened him.

“I’m really not that interesting.” Stiles admitted after a beat of silence.

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

“You tamed Juan Carlos.” Ray commented. “There’s got to be something about you.”

“Tamed? No. We have been temporarily domesticated.” Stiles glowered at the older man. “We both decided to put a cork in our individual crazy until the kids graduate high school and go out on their own.”

“Cork in your crazy,” Roxanne chuckled. “That’s good. I like that.”

“Your kid’s are six and ten, right? Juan Carlos will be forty-five when your youngest is done with high school.” Ray noted. “Time will have tamed him. At that age he won’t be as spry as you.”

“My age really bothers you, doesn’t it?” Stiles questioned impassively.

“I never said that.”

“You have been in the same room together twice, and you have found a way to bring up his age one way or another, both times.” Juice narrowed his eyes at his brother. “Oh, and for the record, I will be perfectly spry at forty-five.”

“Yes, you will.” Stiles placated him with a small amount of condescension in his tone. “What would you like to know about me, Antonia?”

“Oh, uh,” That was sort of the problem. She wanted to know things, but she didn’t know exactly what she wanted to know. Stiles and Juice? Not really forthcoming with information. “Your father is a sheriff, I know that much. What does your mother do?”

“She was a photographer.” Stiles was calm, collected even, when he spoke of Claudia. However, there was always that underlying scent of grief that surrounded him when she was brought up.

“She’s retired now?”

“No. She passed away when I was a kid.” He didn’t falter, he held her steady gaze as if the statement had no effect on him whatsoever. Juice knew better though, and placed a hand on the small of his back to offer him comfort.

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

Juice could see the wheels turning in her head now as she observed Stiles. She was putting together the pieces, understanding why Stiles had reacted so oddly when she had hugged him days before. She was seeing Stiles for what she thought he was, a motherless child who needed a soft hand to nurture him. Gemma had given him relatively the same look when he arrived in Charming. He accepted the attention the MC matriarch offered him readily, but his mom was going to be sorely disappointed when she learned Stiles would not do the same. Stiles was wary of a mother’s affection, he didn’t trust it, not after Gemma.

“Do you have any other siblings, other than the brother you mentioned before?” Roxanne piped up, probably trying to bring the conversation toward something lighter, but, unbeknownst to her, moving it down the same dark path.

“I had three older brothers and four sister-in-laws.” Stiles disclosed, seeming for all the world like it didn’t matter, but the way he leaned back into Juice’s touch told him otherwise. “Two of my brother’s married twice.”

“Had?” Juice wanted to throttle his brother for picking up on that.

“Now I only have the one sister, Lyla.” His three brothers and two sister-in-laws were dead, and Wendy was gone. “Next question.”

“Why don’t you tell them who your favorite baseball team is?” He suggested, hoping to steer the discussion away from the painful topic of family.

“The Mets, duh.”

“Marianna work’s at Citi Field.” His mother informed them. “She’s the manager there.”

“Oh, really?” Stiles turned an accusing eye in his direction. “Your sister manages the stadium that is home to the Mets and you didn’t think that was something I should know?”

“I was saving that information for later.” He had plans to use his sister’s position at Citi Field to his advantage.

“For what?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“I have had a few surprises lately, none of them have been nice.”

“This one will be very nice.” It was going to blow his damn mind.

“You are not going to tell me anything more than that, are you?” Juice only smiled coyly in response. “Fine. If you won’t tell me that, then at least tell me why my ass is vibrating.”

“My phone is on vibrate, it is in my pocket, you are on my lap.” He deduced. “You want to sit up so I can grab it?”

“Sure.” Stiles dutifully sat up further so Juice could wrestle his cellphone out of his sweatpants pocket.

“It’s a text from Lydia.” He declared with a level of surprise. “She wants you to learn how to answer your phone.”

“It’s upstairs on the charger.”

“She’s got a long layover at JFK and wants us to meet her there.” Oh boy, did that sound like fun.

“She must be flying home from Cambridge.” Lydia was one of the few pack members still in school. She was finishing her PhD at Harvard. “When are we supposed to be there?”

“In an hour.” It gave them a little time. “It says, if we shave and don’t dress like we’re homeless, then she’ll buy us breakfast.”

“Isn’t she sweet?” Stiles drawled. “She’s probably going to want to eat at one of those airport restaurants reserved for people flying first class. I doubt they let us in wearing jeans and sweatshirts. I’ll dress the part but I am not shaving.”

“It's your funeral.”

* * *

 

Stiles had not been wrong about the place Lydia wanted to eat at. There was a damn Maitre D’ out front, who let the strawberry blonde in without so much as a blink, but scrutinized both he and Juice as if they were going to case the joint. It was rude, their slacks and dress shirts might not have held up to the designer suits other men in the restaurant were wearing, but, damn it, they should have gotten points for effort.

“I asked you to shave.” Lydia chastised after ordering for them. Yes, she ordered for them, apparently having been embarrassed enough by their attire and not giving them a chance to embarrass her further by ordering a meal that she deemed classless. “They wouldn’t be looking at you like you were about to steal the silverware if you had, Stiles. The black-eye isn’t doing you any favors either.”

“Pick your battles, Lyds.” He muttered, taking a sip of water.

“I am glad at least one of you looks appropriate.” She eyed Juice up and down approvingly.

“Thanks.”

“Stop ogling my husband.” Stiles snapped with no real heat behind it. “And, not that it’s not great to see you, but is there a specific reason behind this visit?”

“I may have purposefully chosen a flight that had a long layover here, yes.” Lydia generally had ulterior motive to her little stop by’s if she came on her own. “I need some advice.”

“From us?” Juice questioned with no lack of shock in his voice.

“Yes.” She nodded slowly, as if he were an idiot. “It is more than obvious that, in recent years, you two have become the parents of the pack.”

“The parents?” He and Juice may have shared the customary ‘do you know what the fuck she’s talking about’ glance at her statement. “Pretty sure our parents are the parents of the pack. My dad and Melissa. The Yukimura’s.”

“You were the first out of our _friends_ to get married, have children, and settle down.” They were the only ones to have done any of that, so far. “You were super fun at one point, now you have assimilated into suburban life and become boring.”

“We are not boring.”

“You don’t go out, except for maybe a date night, here and there, if you can find a babysitter. You rarely hang out with your friends, even when you are in town. On the off chance that you do attend a social gathering, you are constantly checking your phones in case there happens to be a problem with the kids.” She railed on. “Therefore, you are rarely invited out, because you are no longer fun, and abhor leaving the house anyway.”

“Well, she’s got our number.” Stiles figured it was best not to point out that date night generally consisted of eating pizza and drinking beer at _Stilinski’s_ , followed by sex on the desk in the office. It would only further prove her assessment. “Fine. We are the boring parents of the group. That means you came to us-”

“How does our being boring, not that we are, make us the parents of the group?” Juice cut in. “It’s not as if we act like parents to everyone.”

“Yes, you do.” Lydia claimed. “When we all went up to your house during Christmas break, Stiles spent twenty minutes bitching at Liam for not wearing a coat during his snowball fight with the kids.”

“Excuse me for being worried that he would catch a cold playing in the snow wearing only short-sleeves.”

“Liam can’t catch a cold, Stiles.” Lydia argued, and yeah, that was true, Liam had werewolf healing, which made him immune to the common cold. “And you, _Juan Carlos_ , gave Mason a lecture about how to be safe at gay clubs.”

“He was going out alone to Los Angeles night clubs.” Clubs in LA, where Liam, Mason, and Malia were finishing university, were far more dangerous than the Jungle in Beacon Hills. “Am I supposed to be sorry for giving a shit and making him aware that men can be date raped too?”

“I didn’t say there was anything wrong with it.”

“Those things make us good friends. It makes us the _adults_ of the pack, not parents.” Stiles stated, because they were not the parental figures to the pack.

“You helped Malia deal with her Daddy Drama.” Malia had continuously struggled with all the emotions that came with learning her adoptive father wasn’t her biological father, and that Peter Hale was the other half of her DNA.

“We both have experience in that area.” Stiles had his mother, and then he found out about Gemma. Juice had his stepfather, and found out about his biological dad later in life. They also dealt with Abel’s Mama Drama. “Of course we would try and help her deal with all that.”

“You convinced her to go to counseling.” Yes, they did. It had helped Abel deal with his issues regarding Tara and Wendy, so they were convinced it could be beneficial to the coyote as well.

“So?”

“You went to her first appointment with her.” Okay, so maybe they had taken _helping_ a little far that time.

“We get it. We are the parents of the group.” He ceded grudgingly. “You came here to get advice from us rather than your actual parents. What is going on?”

“I’m pregnant.”

“God, help that child.” Juice prayed, eyes drawn heavenward to the ceiling.

“Juice.” He scolded, trying to hold back a chuckle himself.

“I’m sorry.” The older man apologized. “Congratulations.”

“Congratulations.” He echoed with a grin, hoping that was the right answer. Honestly, with Lydia he didn’t know if the prospect of a baby was good news or bad.

“Thank you.” She smiled back with a new light in her eyes, which told him it was very much good news.

“Who’s the father?” It was impolite to ask, but last he knew she hadn’t been seeing anyone.

“Parrish.”

 _“Jordan Parrish?”_ He and his husband said at the same time.

“Yes, Jordan Parrish.” It wasn’t as if they knew any other Parrish’s.

“Really? I always kind of got the vibe he was into Pop.” Juice mused aloud.

“I got the same vibe, and I asked him about that once.” Lydia told them. “He sort of mumbled incoherently and said he had to go to work. It wasn’t much of an answer.”

“Does Parrish know he’s going to be a father?” That was something that deputy should be aware of.

“Yes. I told him ages ago.” She waved it off like it was no big deal to tell him, and maybe it wasn’t. “I’m already in my second trimester.”

“I didn’t even know you two were a thing.” He was a bit out of the loop.

“We’re not. It was a fling, or it was supposed to be.” Getting knocked up kind of put a kink in the fling thing. “It happened over spring break. You know the one you were supposed to show up for?”

“We were busy being nearly killed by my junkie ex-sister-in-law.” He snapped before he thought better of it. He was not going to be guilt tripped about missing a trip to see his friends when he had no control over the circumstances.

“Stiles.” Juice put a hand on his knee to calm him.

“I know you would have rather been in Beacon Hills than in the hospital.” Lydia said rather than apologizing.

“What part of this do you need advice about, Lydia?” He questioned, advice being the reason they were there to begin with.

“I am living in Cambridge, but Parrish lives in Beacon Hills. We are both fully committed to being parents to our child.” Cambridge was in Massachusetts and Beacon Hills was in California, that could cause some issues. “I planned to go back to Beacon Hills once I finished my degree, but now…”

“One of you will have to uproot your lives or you will have to come up with some kind of visitation schedule.” Being on opposite sides of the country meant that an every other weekend trade off of the child was an unrealistic option.

“I could transfer to a university in California, finish my PhD there.” She cringed at the very thought of it. She had a rapport with her professors and advisors at Harvard. It would be hell to transfer now.

“Or, Parrish could move to Cambridge, temporarily.” Juice suggested. “Until you are done with school. John would hire him back when you returned to Beacon Hills.”

“That’s a much better option.” Stiles agreed. “You both are going to have to sit down and talk about it, really talk. There will have to be compromise on both sides.”

“I hate compromise.” She acknowledged before a ringing sounded and she shot them both annoyed looks. “You do not leave your phone on in a restaurant.”

“Sorry.” Stiles told her as he answered the call. “Hello?”

_“Stiles, it’s your grandfather.”_

“Yeah, I got that from the caller ID.” He did have the man’s number saved in his address book. “What’s up?”

_“I’m so sorry about last night.”_

“Not your fault.” His grandfather had been just as caught off guard as he had been.

_“I meant to give you something before you left last night, but I didn’t get the chance. It’s from your mother. Can we meet sometime today? Not at the house, but I can meet you at a coffee shop.”_

“Sure.” He trusted him not to bring anyone along. “When do you want to do it?”

_“Around eleven a.m., I will text you the address. Is that okay?”_

“Yeah.”

_“I’ll see you then.”_

“Your grandfather wants to see you?” Juice asked as he hung up the phone.

“Yep.” His phone chimed with a text message containing an address before it began ringing again. “Jesus.”

“You are popular this morning.” Lydia seemed none too pleased about that.

“Yes, I am.” The number displayed on the screen was not one he recognized but he answered anyway. “Hello?”

_“Mieczysław Stilinski?”_

“Yes, who is this?” Someone official if the use of his first name meant anything.

_“Director McGarrett, from the FBI Field Office in New York City.”_

“What can I help you with Director McGarrett?” He steeled himself for whatever it could be, because the feds calling him had not ended well for him yet.

_“I would like to meet with you today, say around ten a.m.”_

“Is this a request or a demand?” He checked his watch, noting he had less than an hour before that time.

_“Would telling you it was a request make your more agreeable?”_

“A demand, then.” Yeah, he could read between the lines. “Ten o’clock, the field office in New York, correct?”

_“Yes.”_

“See you then.” He hung up his phone, only to be met with nosy glances from the other occupants at the table. “I don’t think I will be making that meeting with my grandpa.”

“I can meet him, if you want. He’s giving you something from your mom,” Juice had obviously put his werewolf hearing to use. “I can get it for you.”

“That would be awesome, thanks.” He would like to make the meeting himself, but that was not going to happen.

“What do the feds want with you?” Lydia questioned with concern.

“Long story.” One he really did not want to get into. “New York morning traffic is a bitch, huh?”

“Yeah.” Juice scooted out of the booth so he could get out. “You probably need to leave now if you want to be there on time.”

“Yeah. Lydia, I will see you in a few weeks. Congrats on the baby. I am very happy for you.” He kissed her cheek before kissing his husbands lips. “I will text you the address of where to meet grandpa. I will see you back at your sister’s house.”

“Okay.”

“Love you both.”

* * *

 

Juice slid back into the booth as Stiles walked off to catch a cab. He didn’t have to leave to catch one of his own just yet, he might as well finish breakfast with the banshee.

“Is it weird being back after spending so long away?” She asked after taking a sip of tea.

“Not really.” It wasn’t so much odd being in Queens, as much as it was odd to see the people. “Seeing how old everyone has gotten is a little weird.”

“Have they been welcoming or challenging?” There was the barest note of protectiveness in her tone and he couldn’t help but smile a bit. He and Stiles were not as close to the pack as Stiles once was, but the group was still protective of every straggler they picked up.

“Welcoming.” Ray had been the only challenging one, but he never expected anything less from his older brother.

“To both of you?” The note turned up higher as her thoughts went to his family’s acceptance or denial of Stiles.

“To both of us.” Again, Ray was the only one he was unsure about, though she didn’t need to know that. “I’m pretty sure my mom is going to try to mother Stiles, now that she knows his is gone.”

“That’s going to go over well.” Stiles had pulled away from even Melissa’s attempts to show him maternal affection, ever since Gemma’s ‘demise’, and the pack had taken notice. “Why is he all banged up?”

“His last meeting with the feds didn’t go so hot.” He would elaborate further, but that was Stiles story to tell, not his. Instead, he asked what had been on his mind since the woman announced her pregnancy. “Hey, what is your baby going to be?”

“Parrish and I decided to we didn’t want to know the sex until the baby was born.”

“No, not the sex. What is it going to _be_?” The kid had two supernaturally inclined parents, it was doubtful that it would be born fully human. “You are a banshee and Parrish is…whatever the hell Parrish is. What is the baby going to be?”

“I would assume, he or she, would be either/or.” Either a banshee or whatever Parrish was. “Kind of like Malia. Her biological mother was a coyote, but her father was a wolf. She inherited her mother’s ability.”

“Yeah, but they were both shifters. You are not a shifter.” That changed the rules a bit. “Parrish kind of is. So isn’t it just as likely for your child to inherit both abilities?”

“It’s plausible.” She concurred. “I should probably research that before the baby is born.”

“Probably.” That might be a good idea.

“I thought Stiles would hit me with these kind of questions.”

“Our minds think alike. He’s busy, I might as well ask for both of us.” It was kind of an important question. Having a child that could both walk through fire and scream as a death omen, was something she should be prepared for. “When does your flight leave?”

“I still have an hour or so.” She checked the time on her phone, just to be sure. “Do you have to get going?”

“I can stay a little longer.” She seemed lonely. Being on the other side of the country by herself the last five years could not have been easy. What kind of person would he be if he left a sad pregnant woman alone in a restaurant?

“Thanks.”

“No problem.”

“Did you ever tell Stiles why I bitch slapped you that day?” She asked out of the blue when the conversation lolled.

“No. I don’t think he ever thought much on it.” It was part of ruse to keep Stiles in the dark about him being a wolf. If members of the pack did not like him, then Scott would never have bitten him. Seeing Lydia hit him was supposed to curb any suspicions Stiles may have had. “We never should have kept any of that from him.”

“Scott thought it was the right thing to do at the time.” They had followed the alpha’s lead. “It didn’t do any lasting damage.”

“You sure about that?” There was a reason Stiles emotionally distanced himself from the pack, from Scott. “This shit with Stiles and Scott, it will work itself out. Hell, if Chibs and I could work out our beef, then Stiles and Scott can get past theirs. Stiles has already extended the olive branch and everything.”

“But?”

“If you listen when he talks to Scott, it’s like he’s trying to read between the lines, find what Scott’s hiding from him this time.” It was something Stiles had always done with Gemma, always on the lookout for the lie. “Keeping Kate’s return from him, then that shit with me, it broke a level of trust. I worked hard to earn that trust back. Some of you have to. I think it’s different with Scott, because…”

“They were brothers.” That was the truth of it. Stiles and his brothers were a complicated situation all together, especially when it came to trust. “Scott thinks that Stiles never really came back from Charming.”

“Part of him didn’t.” Part of Stiles was left on Highway 580 with Jax.

“He’s scared, both _of_ Stiles and _for_ him.” Lydia revealed with a heavy sigh. “Scott and Stiles are Scott and Stiles. They will work it out. It is the _when_ and the _how_ that has to be decided. It’s already been five years of awkwardness between them.”

“I say we lock them in a room together until they figure their shit out.”

“Sounds like a plan.” She clinked their glasses together in a toast.

* * *

 

He was starting to think Juice had a good point when he said _when it rained it poured_. First Zobelle, then Sloan, and now he was in the FBI’s crosshairs yet again. It made him wonder what the hell was going to come next.

The agent’s at the New York Field Office were a bit more welcoming than the ones at the Portland office. They had offered him coffee and other refreshments and they led him into a well-lit office, which was empty of anyone but him. That was an intimidation technique, one he recognized from Patterson pulling it on him. It did not get the same rise out of him now as it had then.

He was only alone for a few minutes before an older man in an expensive suit came in looking frazzled. He barely spared Stiles a glance as he went around to his side of the desk, setting a large stack of folders on top of it. He took a long gulp of what had to be stale coffee, before finally giving Stiles his attention.

“I apologize for being late and for disturbing your vacation.” He said first, holding out a hand in greeting. “I am Director Joseph McGarrett.”

“Mieczysław Stilinski.” He shook the older man’s hand firmly. “It’s nice to meet you, sir.”

“It’s nice to meet you as well.” McGarrett rifled through the stack of files as he took his own seat. “I called you in here today for several reasons.”

“Alright.“ Several reasons. _Several._ This was going to be bad. “Is it safe to assume this has to do with Ethan Zobelle?”

“Yes and no.” He opened one of the files and made a face at the contents. “You did a real number on him.”

“Yes sir.” He was not going to deny it. “The charges were dropped, unless the FBI has decided to amend their decision?”

“We have no plans to charge you or reopen that case at all.” That was reassuring. “Zobelle is off the ventilator and breathing on his own now. He should be released from the hospital within the next few weeks.”

“And moved to some fancy mansion, maybe a condo on the beach, so he can be as comfortable as he possibly can be.” He didn’t try to hide the disgust in his voice. “Best doctors. Best care possible. Scumbag like him deserves the best for all he has done on the tax payer’s dime.”

“Officer Stilinski – “

“I’m not a police officer anymore.”

“We cannot place Ethan Zobelle into a prison. As you already know, he holds a lot of information on a lot of people.” Yeah, he heard that before.

“Spare me the spiel, please.” He held a hand up to cut the man off. “It doesn’t mean anything to me.”

“Everyone involved in this situation would like to see him behind bars. Unfortunately, his protection order comes from above us.” Zobelle had people above the Director the FBI’s head protecting him…that was fucking fabulous. “You would like Zobelle to be punished, which is entirely understandable, considering what he had done to your mother. However, we cannot make that happen.”

“I’m aware of that, thank you.” He had heard all this shit before.

“We can give you something else, though.” He held out a large manila envelope to Stiles. “When Agent McCall was making his stink about you, he put a note in your file saying that you suffered from paranoia. With that in mind, I would like to assure you that this is in no way a threat. It’s a show of good faith and a consolation prize, of sorts.”

“I’m hypervigilant not paranoid.” He corrected as he took the item. “What kind of consolation prize could possibly make up for Zobelle getting to walk after all the damage he has caused?”

He opened the folder slowly, pulling out its contents. There was a bundle of paperwork, official documents, such as an arrest record, marriage certificate, and adoption records, along with other information. There was also a new driver’s license and social security card. They all had the same name on them.

“We cannot put Zobelle in prison. We can, however, erase someone’s past.” McGarrett informed him carefully. “Well, the higher up’s can. They agreed to do it and did.”

“How is this not a threat?” His heart pounded wildly in his chest and as he shoved the contents back into the envelope. If they were out of sight then all of this would go away. “Why would you…? How...?"

“You shined a light on yourself when you attacked Zobelle. An investigation was opened. The people in your life were looked into.” It was his fault. His life was going to fall apart and it was all his fault. “We are not threatening you. We are eliminating a threat for you. You can live freely now, without looking over your shoulder wondering if the next cop car that pulls up next to you is going to take him away.”

“I don’t understand.” He admitted pathetically. He didn’t understand why they would do something like that, or how it could have been done in such a short amount of time.

“It means exactly what it means. Anything connecting him to a criminal organization has been erased.” That did not make any sense. “His criminal history is gone. Any interview, deposition, any information he may have given to a police officer or AUSA can never be used again, because it never happened. It does not matter who remembers it. Officially, it never happened and can never be used against him or anyone else. He was never a member of the Sons of Anarchy. He was never convicted of a crime as an adult. Therefore, he was never incarcerated and never died in prison.”

“I don’t…” This was not how he thought this was going to go at all. “Why? Why would you do that? Why would you go to such extreme length to give me peace of mind? None of you owe me anything. Bad guys walk all the time, and victim’s families don’t get consolation prizes.”

“I’ve spoken to both Section Chief Elizabeth Cortese and District Attorney Tyne Patterson, both had about the same thing to say about you.” Well, that didn’t sound good. “You are driven and loyal. Patterson likened you to a dog with a bone when you had a target in mind.”

“So?”

“You will not drop Zobelle just because we can’t put him in prison.” True enough, but he was not about to tell this guy that. “We need you to drop him. We need the information he can provide and we cannot obtain that if he is dead or missing under suspicious circumstances.”

“If I don’t drop Zobelle, this goes away, my husband goes back to jail for the rest of his life, and I go with him for aiding and abetting.” This wasn’t a consolation prize, it was a bribe. “Let me guess, this also goes away if I don’t hand over the Sons of Anarchy to you, huh?”

“The Sons of Anarchy have gone legitimate, we are well aware of that. They are no longer a threat to anyone. This is a onetime transaction. Juan Carlos Ortiz for Ethan Zobelle. Your husband’s past has already been erased, physical copies of files and such are being collected and destroyed, and can never be used against either of you ever again. That promise comes from the highest authority.” They knew he would agree, and what other choice did he have. Zobelle must have some serious secrets to warrant this kind of protection. Jesus. “Do you accept this deal?”

“Yes.” He would do what his brother could not and choose his family over revenge. “Is this…all? Did you bring me in for something else?”

“There is something else, and honestly, I am just the middleman. The Section Chief for the Stockton office wanted to give you a few weeks to think over an offer they have for you.” The brought back his confusion, because he had never met the Stockton office Section Chief.

“What offer?”

“Apparently, you gave a very impassioned speech to Section Chief Cortese about corrupt law enforcement officials.” He should have known that would come back to bite him in the ass. “According to DA Patterson, before you were a police officer, you put together a case to bring down Sheriff Althea Jarry.”

“So?” Nothing ever came of any of those things.

“Members of your family have been brutalized by, or as a result of, corrupt members of law enforcement and prison system officials. This happened in the San Joaquin district, specifically.” McGarrett handed him another file. “You have knowledge of those crimes, and McCall wasn’t wrong when he said your family tree could give you a special insight.”

“Where are you going with this?” He was sure he wouldn’t like the road they were headed down.

“The Stockton field office is preparing to launch a large scale investigation of San Joaquin law enforcement and prison system officials.” It was about damn time. “They want you one their team.”

“As Section Chief Cortese pointed out, I didn’t even have the clearance or qualification to interview an informant. I’m sure as hell not qualified to be part of some special task force.” He hadn’t even made it through his first year as a rookie at the police department.

“You would have to complete FBI training to earn your credentials and clearance. Tyne Patterson was happy to write you a letter of recommendation.” That was nice of her.

“I appreciate the offer.” He did, honestly. “I would like nothing more than to bring down a bunch of dirty cops, clean up San Joaquin. The problem is, corrupt people in a position of power, like cops, are dangerous on an entirely different level than your average criminal. They have no limits. They have resources. If they find out you are looking into them, if they get spooked, they will go after the people closest to you, and I will not risk my family that way.”

“I understand your trepidation. It was expected, actually, that is why we are speaking now. The Stockton Section Chief wanted you to have the three weeks of your vacation to really think it over.” McGarrett held out yet another large envelope, this one twice as thick as the previous two combined.

“I don’t need to think about it.” He made no move to take the new item offered. “I won’t put my husband, father, and children in danger.”

“We can protect your family.” The Director insisted.

“No, you can’t.” They didn’t protect Donna or any of the others.

“Take the three weeks to think about it. And this, I don’t agree with giving you.” He gestured to the file in his hands. “It is to motivate you into accepting the job offer. It contains information, graphic photographs, that are supposed to remind you of how your family and friends have suffered, because of the corrupt system.”

“Is that all?” Against his better judgmenet he reached out to take it, and his hands might have shook as he did.

“Yes.” McGarrett nodded. “A car will take you where you need to go.”

“And Juan Carlos…” He needed to be sure. He couldn’t leave unless he could trust what the man was saying. “Zobelle is yours and Juan Carlos…”

“Juan Carlos is a free man.”

“Thank you.”

* * *

 

He joined Mieczysław in the corner booth when he entered the coffee shop. The older man didn’t seem all that surprised to see him, which told him Stiles probably called and told his grandfather he would be meeting someone else.

“Nice to see you again.” He gave the older man a polite grin. “I’m sorry Stiles couldn’t make it.”

“It’s fine.” Mieczysław replied, before he sliding a book over the table toward Juice. “Claudia started that when she first found out she was sick. She wanted to leave something for Stiles. She sent it to me when she started getting worse. She wanted me to finish it.”

It looked an ordinary hard covered book to anyone else, but the title was telling. In neat calligraphy on the cover, it read _Family is a Bond Forged In Love_. On the bottom, in small print, it said, _Most_ _Photographs by: Claudia Stilinski._

“It was a photo album originally, but she always intended to have it bound, so I made sure it was.” It was one of a kind, made just for Stiles. “She spent some time in Charming with Stiles, so that it captured _all_ of his family.”

“That’s nice.” Claudia had died shortly before his time in Charming, so he hadn’t had the privilege of meeting her. “I’m sure Stiles will love it.”

“Before I had it bound, I made sure to remove any pictures that could be…triggering.” He looked as haunted now as Stiles had last night. “Any pictures that included Sloan.”

“Good.” At least Stiles had one grandparent looking out for him. “I need to talk to you about her.”

“I thought you might.”

“I don’t know what happened, what she did to Stiles, but I can guess.” His mind had been ‘guessing’ all night. “What I do know, is that she was ordered by the court, to never contact Stiles again, and she was supposed to be placed in a psychiatric hospital upon her return to New York. Stiles doesn’t think she ever followed through with that last one.”

“My wife does not believe in modern medicine. She believes in all natural remedies.” Mieczysław informed him. “She stopped speaking to Claudia when she sought medical treatment for her illness. She blamed the hospital for Claudia’s death.”

“So, she didn’t want to put another daughter in the hospital.” It made sense for someone with those beliefs. However, it didn’t mean jack shit to him. “Your wife’s aversion to modern medicine does not override a court order.”

“I know that. At the time – “

“I don’t give a shit about _at the time_. I don’t even need to know how you got John to agree to this shit deal.” He would ask his father-in-law that himself. “What I care about is now. Last night, your daughter looked at Stiles like he belonged to her.”

“She is very sick.” The older man choked out, looking nauseated.

“That is a gross understatement. This is what is going to happen,” He was going to make his intentions regarding this entire situation very clear. “You are going to check your daughter into a psychiatric hospital. I will have John get the court house in Beacon Hills to fax them a copy of the court order, so they will commit her involuntarily if she kicks up a fuss.”

“I don’t – “

“If you don’t, I will make damn sure she is arrested for violating that order. Then I am going to hack into her police record, tack on a few more warrants, and make sure she ends up in the deepest darkest prison I can find, for the rest of her goddamn life.” John would help him put her in jail, would look the other way at the hacking, if only to protect Stiles. “Do you know what other prisoners do to people who hurt children? She would be lucky if she lasted a week in gen-pop. If she did, it would be endless torment until the day she died.”

Mieczysław reared back in his chair, as he studied Juice, making a determination. He was trying to see how much of what he was saying was truth. It would be in his best interest to take Juice very seriously, because he was not fucking around.

“I will make sure she goes to the hospital.” Mieczysław agreed, looking almost relieved. He just needed to be backed into a corner, needed something to tell his wife, to honestly say he had no choice.

“It needs to happen before Stiles and I go home. If by chance, she ever gets out, and she comes looking for Stiles,” He was not going to be so merciful with her if she ever contacted his husband again. “She is going to end up a victim of a very vicious animal attack. Do you understand what I am telling you?”

“Yes.” He brought his eyes up to meet Juice’s. “Thank you.”

“For what?” It took him a moment to get it, to understand. He was being thanked for not giving him any options, for forcing him to get his daughter help, for protecting Stiles. “Oh.”

* * *

 

Ray and Roxanne had vacated Marisol’s house by the time he returned from the coffee shop, and had taken their mother with them. Having the house blessedly empty made him breathe a sigh of relief. He didn’t think they would ever leave him alone.

He loved his family, missed them even, but he was feeling crowded in their presence. They all wanted something from him, he could sense that whenever he was in the room with them. There was always a question waiting on the tips of their tongues that he did not want to answer.

Truthfully, the well-adjusted act he was putting on for them was wearing thin. It was much harder to pull off in front of adults then it was children, and it was exhausting just to try. He found himself reverting to his teenage self’s persona when backed into a corner by one of his family members, acting overly dramatic and downright defiant. It made him lose his temper quicker than he normally would. He had to get a handle on that shit.

He tried not to dwell too much on it as he trudged up the stairs, following the scent of Stiles as he went. The younger man had obviously returned shortly before he had, and had retreated to the guest room when he had. His scent trail heading up the steps reeked of anxiety and exhaustion, the one in the bedroom, though, was anger mixed with betrayal, and fuck, that was not good.

“Something you want to tell me?” Stiles voice was grim. He had an aura deceptive calmness he only got when he felt trapped.

“What?” He responded dumbly until he saw what Stiles held in his hands, the court document he had printed off earlier. “Shit.”

“Yeah, shit.” He let the paper fall from his fingers, watching it flutter downward until it hit the floor. “I told you I would tell you everything when we got home.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” He wasn’t an idiot. He knew he had overstepped a major boundary they put in place. “I just needed…”

“If you wanted to know, you should have been straight with me and asked. I would have told you.” If he had pushed the night before, rather than letting it drop until they were in a location Stiles felt safe, then Stiles would have told him everything. “Instead, you went behind my back, hacked some databases, and put yourself at risk.”

“I’m sorry.” He wouldn’t delude himself into thinking Stiles was more pissed off about the legal risks than the invasion of privacy. “I didn’t look at that to know what she had done. I just needed to know the consequences of it.”

“I told you the goddamn consequences.” He had actually given him that much, yes. “Hospitalization. No contact. I told you that.”

“You did, yeah, but,” He had to see it written somewhere. “I wanted to know if it was an official deal, one made through the courts, or if it was a family decision made under the table.”

“Why does that matter?”

“You said you didn’t know if she had been in the hospital. If she hadn’t, and it was a court ordered decision,” Then, as he told Mieczysław, she could be in violation of that. “She can still be held accountable. She can still be punished.”

“It was a long time ago.” Time didn’t mean anything to someone like Sloan. “It’s over. It has been done and over with for a very long time.”

“It’s not over for her.” He regretted the words the moment they left his mouth. “When she looked at you, she smelt like…arousal.”

“Yeah, that was the black eye and broken arms doing.” Stiles muttered as he stood from the bed.

“What?” He questioned dully, because he had no idea what that meant.

Stiles put distance between them, went to stand by the window, looking out. If they were home, Juice had no doubt he would be at his bird’s cage, peering in while he pulled his thoughts together. It was his fault that Stiles needed space. He had pushed, had pried into a piece of Stiles past that he had no rights to. He had been impatient, had needed to know, he couldn’t wait for his husband to tell him, and now here they were.

“You think you have it all figured out, but you don’t.” Stiles told him in a resigned tone. “I told you to use your imagination. That was my mistake. It made you jump to conclusions.”

“I’m sorry.” If felt like he had repeated those words a hundred times since Stiles had confronted him with the document.

“Your conclusions aren’t entirely wrong.” His heart plummeted in his chest at the admittance. “They are not entirely right, either.”

“Can you tell me?” He had already fucked things up. He might as well go for broke and make things worse by pushing further.

“Sloan and my mom were close. After my mom died, she had some sort of psychotic break, I guess.” He shrugged his shoulders noncommittally, as if he wasn’t sure that was what had happened. “She came to stay with us at the beginning of the school year when I was eight. The start of school is always hectic, and it was my first one without mom. Sloan wanted to help out. That’s when it started.”

It was an easy cover, he supposed. Just a loving aunt wanting to help her sister’s widow. Who would suspect nefarious intentions?

“Dad was still new to being a sheriff, so he worked a lot of hours. She watched me while he was at the station. I came home from school one afternoon, and she told me that we were going to play a game.” Stiles placed his hands on the glass pane of the window, seeming as if the warmth of the sun soaking through it and into his palms was anchoring him. “She told me to take off my shirt and lie down. I told her no. Dad talked to me about stuff like that, and we learned about it in school.”

John had probably taught him at a young age about stranger danger, about pedophiles. He more than likely stressed to his son that it was not only strangers that could hurt you, but those close to you as well.

“I was a real scrawny kid. She was an adult. The word ‘no’ didn’t mean much. She got me out of my shirt and made my lay on my stomach.” His fingers tapped against the glass, a physical manifestation of his anxiety. “She drew on my back with a pen. I didn’t think anything of it at first. It kind of tickled. Then she put more pressure on it, kept increasing the pressure, until the pen dug so deep into my skin that I bled.”

Juice took a step forward, away from the door, wanting to be at Stiles side, but he knew it wouldn’t be welcome. Any attempt at comfort would only cause the younger man to shut down. He moved to sit on the bed instead. It brought them closer together, but kept the space Stiles needed to have this conversation.

“She cleaned me up afterward, cuddled with me on the couch until dad got home. The first few times, it was the same, just the pen.” He sighed and pressed his forehead against the window. “It escalated. It always does in those situations, I guess.”

“Escalated?” He could not begin to imagine what that meant.

“She used knives, scalpels. Sometimes she would light a match and put it out on my back.” He turned around then, but his eyes were cast downward. “I learned early on, that it was my tears, my cries of pain, that she wanted. The more I cried, the louder I screamed, the more I bled, the sooner it was over.”

Juice curled his hands into fists to hide the sight of his claws. They could inflict the same kind of damage any knife could. It made him sick to think about, given the way Stiles leaned into them when Juice swept them over his skin.

“It is not the same thing.” Stiles growled harshly, making him believe he had said all of that out loud. “I know you wouldn’t hurt me.”

Stiles walked purposefully toward him, sitting next to him on the bed. He reached for one of Juice’s hands and uncurled his fist, rubbing a thumb over the claw protruding from his index finger.

“You could use these to hurt me if you wanted to, but you never have, and I know you never would. It could be a full moon, you could be out of control with your claws wrapped around my neck,” Stiles manipulated the hand he until it was doing just that, gripping the base of his pale neck. “And I would still know that wouldn’t hurt me. When I push into them, it is not a conditioned response. It is not because of her. I pulled away from her, begged her to stop because it hurt so much. She got off on the blood and the pain. She used sharp tools to hurt me. These are a part of you. You use these to comfort me, to caress me. It is nowhere near the same thing. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” He had never once used his claws to cause Stiles harm, even accidentally. He danced them against his husbands skin, skimmed them over his moles to elicit a soft sigh or a delightful shiver. He never dug in, never used them to cause him pain. “You don’t have to keep going, if you don’t want to. I can wait – “

“It’s okay, I can do it.”

“Okay.”

“Like I said, she got off on it. She didn’t touch my dick or anything, not until the very last time. It was always the promise though. When she was done hurting me, done using my blood to wet her fingers while she touched herself,” He shudder, dropping his grip on Juice’s hand. “She would tell me that one day she would make me feel as good as I made her feel.”

Juice sunk his claws into the meat of his own thigh. It was all he could do to keep himself in check, to keep from bolting out the door and ripping that woman to shreds.

“She always said it with a smile on her face, sounded so wistful. She thought we were in some kind of relationship.” Confusion contorted his face. “I didn’t understand any of it. I never knew what I did to make her think…to make her want to do that to me.”

“Nothing. You did nothing.” He put as much conviction as he could in to his voice. “It was her, not you. None of it was your fault. None of it.”

“I know.” Stiles sniffled as he continued. “I know that now. I’ve known that for a while. I did a lot of therapy to work through all of it, to learn that.”

“Your dad, did he…” John wasn’t blind, he couldn’t have been oblivious to what was going on in his own house.

“When she was done, she would put cream on my wounds, and give me pain medication, so I would not look like I was hurting when I was around other people. She kept the damage on my back, so it was easily hidden. I was old enough to bathe and dress myself, so there was no chance of him seeing.” She took precautions, so John wouldn’t know she was brutalizing his child. “He saw how uncomfortable I had become around her. I wrote it off when he asked. I told him, she made me sad because of how much she looked like mom. They have a different eye color, but back then, she had her natural hair, brown, like moms. Their faces…they were nearly identical.”

It made an already horrific situation that much worse. Every time Stiles looked at a picture of his mom, he probably saw his abuser.

“It wasn’t a constant thing, though. It wasn’t all the time.” Stiles patted his arm as if he were trying to reassure him. “She lived here in New York. It only happened when she would come to visit. It was a few times a year, for three years.”

A few times a year, for three years. Jesus Christ. He would bet she stayed longer than a couple of days when she visited. She probably gave herself plenty of time to torment her nephew.

“The first time I tried to end it, was the day after she used the matches for the first time. It was my ninth birthday, and she came into my room to wake me for breakfast. I told her I needed my dad to take me to the hospital because the burns hurt too much. It wasn’t a complete lie.” He might not have needed medical treatment, but the wounds hurt. “She told me to wait until the party was over, so I didn’t disappoint my friends. She slit her wrists over my birthday cake. She left a note on my bed, saying it was my fault. She didn’t want to live if I was going to tell lies about her. I kept my mouth shut because I thought they would believe her and think I was lying.”

She played on a little boys fears. She manipulated him. She abused him mentally as well as physically.

“When I was eleven, I decided I wanted to try out for the local baseball team. I knew you had to go to the doctor for a physical before you could. I asked dad not to tell _anyone_. I wanted it to be a surprise.” Even preteen Stiles had known how to get himself out of an impossible situation with a few well placed lies. “Sloan picked me up from school a few days before tryouts. She took me to a motel outside of town. She did that when she wanted to take her time and didn’t want to risk dad coming home in the middle of the day.”

She did not want to be caught in the act.

“When it was over, and we were driving back home, I told her about the baseball team, that I had a physical in two days. She panicked. She knew the doctor would see what she had done and would ask questions.” Stiles had played her, made her feel as trapped as he did. “She intentionally crashed the car. She drove us off one of those steep cliffs in the preserve. It took emergency services hours to find us. I thought I would die there. I wished I would. I knew then that she would never let me go.”

Stiles got up to his feet again, began pacing the room and wringing his hands. Juice realized that Stiles had been eleven, twelve years ago, which was how long it had been since he had seen Sloan, before last night.

“I was pretty out of it at the hospital those first few days. They had me on heavy painkillers.“ He rubbed the cast covering his wrist. “Broken arm, broken leg, a couple busted ribs, contusions, a concussion.”

“You spent the summer in Charming in a wheel chair, because you couldn’t use crutches when one of your arms and one of your legs were in casts.” He could recall feeling sorry for the kid, knowing how rough it was to wear full casts in the summer heat.

“My dad refused to leave my side for days. When he finally did, it was to go pick up grandpa Mieczysław from the airport. Sloan came in as soon as he had left. She climbed into bed with me, kept apologizing, saying it was my turn to feel good. She said she would make me feel so good if I promised not to tell.” Stiles breath hitched as he continued. “My brain was so jumbled from the meds that I couldn’t do anything to stop her. When she started…touching me, I just turned my head toward the door and started to cry. My body…reacted to her, but I didn’t want it to.”

One of the things you learn from counselors is that your body’s biological reaction holds no bearing on whether or not the act was consensual. Your body reacted to stimulation, which was not your fault.

“I was watching the door, hoping someone would come in…then someone did.” A small smile graced his lips as relief flooded his voice. “It was Piney. He came in. He saved me.”

Juice remembered the summer more clearly now. Opie had been in jail, doing year three of his five-year bid. Jax, Chibs, and Happy had been picked up on some bullshit charge that had them locked up for six weeks. Jax had heard about the car accident while he was inside, and asked Piney to go up to Beacon Hills to check on Stiles. It was only supposed to be a day trip, but Piney extended it. He didn’t come back for nearly a month and when he did he had an injured Stiles in tow.

“Piney never said anything.” He had only been in his first year with a full patch at the time, but surely, he would have been trusted with that information.

“I begged him not to tell. The club would have murdered her. Losing my mom nearly killed my grandparents. If they lost another daughter…I couldn’t be responsible for that.” Piney had chosen to keep Stiles secret, rather than be one more person to violate his trust. “He told my dad, because I asked him to, but no one else. He took that secret to the grave.”

“The deal in that court document, that says no contact and hospitalization,” It was a piss poor deal, if he did say so himself. “I cannot see your father ever agreeing to that, to giving her leniency.”

“Prison was only going to make her more of a monster. She is sick. She needs medication and long-term hospitalization. Even at eleven years old, I knew that. The deal was made, because I asked my dad to make it.” Of course he did, because he saw people for what they were, even in the worst situation. “My conditions were that she had to go to a hospital here in New York, it was as far away as I could think of, and she could never see or speak to me again.”

Stiles moved to join him on the bed once more. He picked a loose thread on his slacks but seemed to relax the slightest bit.

“Dad and I moved into a new house across town, changed our phone number. My grandparents only have dad’s number, and a P.O. Box address to send things to.” They took safety measures to insure she could not get to him again. “Grandpa felt horrible about what Sloan had done. He handed over his retirement fund so I could get skin grafts and surgeries to remove the scars. He didn’t want me to have a visible reminder of it.”

That explained why Juice had never seen many scars littering Stiles back. He had memorized Stiles body backward and forward. There had been a few scars, when they had first started seeing each other. He had asked about them once, Stiles had told him they were left behind from injuries he received after the car accident. His body void of almost any scars now.

“When the nogitsune spit me back out, he got my body. The one I got left with, this one,” He pressed a hand to his sternum. “It was pristine and new. No scars from the past.”

His scars were internal. They weren’t visible, not anymore. It was all they were, though, scars. They were no longer open wounds that still bled. Juice could see that now. He had finished that chapter of his life. Sloan’s reappearance caused him to reread it. He didn’t break or shut down because of it. Stiles was stronger than that.

“I’m sorry that happened to you.” No one deserved to be tortured, and that was exactly what Sloan had done to him when he was only a child. “I am sorry I pried when you asked me to wait. I just thought I could find something in the court documents, and then I could find a way to do this legally.”

“Do what?”

“Punish her for what she did to you.” Like she should have been punished from the beginning. “I didn’t know what she done yet, but I had an idea after the way she looked at you last night. I want to kill her for what she did to you, but I’m trying to be smart about this.”

“What does that mean?” Stiles tilted his head in question.

“My first instinct was to put a couple of bullets in her head.” He answered honestly. “I ignored that impulse, which was very hard for me to do.”

“You let go of a murderous impulse,” Stiles cupped his face between his hands. “I’m very proud.”

“Don’t make fun of me.” He grumbled.

“I’m not making fun of you.” He caressed his cheeks with his thumbs. “I know how hard it is to let go of that need to go as far as humanly possible to protect your family.”

“I told your grandfather that she needed to be in the hospital before we went back to Oregon, or I would find a way to send her to prison.” He didn’t know if he could actually make the latter happen, but he would sure as hell try. “I also told him what would happen if Sloan ever tried to contact you again.”

“And what did he say?”

“He would make sure she was hospitalized.” It may cause some issues for Mieczysław and Phoebe, but that was their problem, not his. “I believe he will follow through. He loves you too much to put you at risk again.”

“Okay.” Stiles nodded. “We let him handle it. Then we let this go.”

“Okay.” There was nothing more he could do once Sloan was locked away. “I let go of that, and you let go of Tully and everyone else on your hit list.”

“It’s a worthless list now. It hinged on Zobelle, and I can’t touch him now.” He scrubbed a hand down his face, looking ten years older than he was. “So, yeah, Tully, Sloan, Zobelle, we let them go.”

“What happened with the feds?” Stiles looked a little hysterical at the question, aged an extra five years on top of the previous ten. “That bad?”

“No, not bad. Complicated. I guess. I don’t know.” He turned exhausted eyes upward to meet Juice’s gaze. “Can I tell you about it later?”

“Yes.” He had pushed Stiles far enough for one day. “Do you want to see the book your grandfather gave me? The one from your mom?”

“Later.” He blinked tiredly. “Want to nap with me?”

“Always.” He shucked off his boots without a second though. “Can I do something?”

“I don’t know, can you?” Stiles furrowed his brows as he took off his own shoes and kicked out of his pants.

“Can I touch you?”

“Ah crap, are we doing the timid thing?” Stiles shot him an irritated glare before it softened. “You can touch me anytime you want.”

“Heavy conversation we just had, I just wanted to be sure.” He held up his hands defensively. “You still do it with me sometimes.”

“I know I do. I’m sorry.” He apologized as he began unbuttoning his shirt, only for Juice to stop him. “What? I’m warm.”

“Let me.”

“Okay.” He replaced Stiles hands with his own and unbuttoned the dress shirt, pulling it off and away from him as gently as he could.

He slid a hand up and down his husband’s arms as he twisted his body until his naked back was facing him. He brushed his fingertips across his dotted skin before placing a tender kiss to the knob of his spine. He repeated the act on both his shoulder blades before Stiles finally caught on to what he was doing.

“I’m sensing this symbolic cleansing of my back is going to take a while,” He murmured through a yawn. “Can I lie down while we do it?”

“Yeah, lie down. Relax. Sleep.”

Stiles settled down on his stomach, burying his head in the closest pillow. Juice straddled his legs, and took Stiles lack of protest as confirmation to proceed. He started with the patch above the waistband of his briefs, letting his tongues join his lips as he marked the pale skin.

“Hey, do not leave a trail of hickeys up and down my back.” His husband muttered sleepily. “We reserve those for places I can see and enjoy too.”

“Sleep.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next: Stiles bonds with the Ortiz siblings. Juice's not so dead status could have serious repercussions.  
> [TUMBLR](http://www.stilinski-ortiz.tumblr.com/)  
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> Thank you for all the comments and kudos, they are greatly appreciated.


	7. Good Times Gonna Come

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd.  
> Chapter title comes from: Good Times Gonna Come by Aqualung.  
> Warning: Mentions of past suicide/suicide attempt.

Despite Stiles composed attitude, Juice still expected it to be a nightmare night. So, he was pleasantly surprised to be woken up in the dead of night to Stiles patting his cheek with a small smile, and mumbling something about going to the beach. He could vaguely remember making a promise about taking him to Coney Island before dozing back off.

The next time he awoke, daylight was shining in his face through the window, and the alarm on Stiles phone was blaring, signaling it was time to take his medication. The younger man didn’t stir at the noise, which meant Juice would have to physically wake him to take his pills. He shuffled out from under the blankets, stumbling when he miscalculated where he had left his shoes the previous afternoon. Luckily, he made it to the dresser to grab his husband’s meds and water bottle, before making his way back to the bed, without further issue.

“Hey,” He shook the man’s shoulder gently. “Wake up.”

He received nothing but a grunt in response, not even a twitch of body movement.

“Stiles, you have to wake up.” He shook him more firmly this time.

“No.” His husband grumbled pitifully. “Sleep.”

“No.” He echoed, patting Stiles cheek the way Stiles had patted his earlier. “You need to take your pills.”

“Having a good dream.” He rolled onto his back, covering his face with his arms, trying to block out the light.

“Was I in it?” He always asked when Stiles woke up with a grin playing on his lips, claiming to have been gifted with visions of good rather than bad.

“We were on the beach.” That explained the odd reason he had woken Juice up hours ago. He didn’t want to go to the beach, he was already at one in his dreams. “Warm sand between our toes and ocean smells in our noses.”

“What were we doing?”

“Watching the waves.” That sounded nice.

“Drinking Mai Tai’s?” He asked, just to see the way Stiles scrunched up his face at the idea of it. “Beer?”

“Beer.” He agreed. “We were going to swimming with the whales and the dolphins, maybe some sharks.”

“You had me up until sharks.”

“Sharks are awesome.” Stiles wouldn’t hesitate to jump in the water with a great white. “Sleep now, okay?”

“Pills first, and then you can sleep.” Oh, there was the pout he had been waiting for. “Two seconds and then it is back to lala land.”

Stiles dutifully sat up, and took the medication as directed, before dropping his head back to the pillow. He looked at Juice with tired eyes, then reached his fingers out to catch them around his wrist. It was usually a move Juice pulled on him when attempting to capture his attention.

“What is it?”

“You’re free now.” Stiles declared, voice riding the fine line between serenity and utter disbelief. “They can't take you away. Ever.”

He wanted to ask what that meant. He wanted to know _who_ could no longer take him away. Unfortunately, Stiles had drifted back to unconsciousness before he had the chance to say anything. He wasn’t worried, if it were a bad thing Stiles would have told him sooner and would have been more panicked about the whole thing. He let it go, making a mental note to question his husband about it later.

* * *

 

Stiles trudged down stairs shortly after waking up alone. He went in search for Juice, hoping to talk to him about what the feds had given him the day before, but had no luck locating him anywhere in the house. He did come across Marisol in the kitchen, whispering sweet nothings to her coffee maker.

“Good morning.” He greeted, silently wondering if he married the wrong Ortiz, because this chick obviously shared his not so secret love affair with a certain caffeinated beverage.

“Afternoon.” She corrected through a yawn.

“Still?” He could have sworn he slept longer than a few hours.

“Again.” She told him while fixing two cups of coffee. “You slept through dinner last night, then breakfast and lunch today.”

“Shit.” He didn’t think he had slept quite that long, though it explained why he woke up feeling half-dead. “I’m sorry.”

“No need to apologize.” She brushed it off while handing him a mug.

“I figured Juice would wake me at some point.” His husband was a stickler for making sure he ate. It wasn’t like him to allow Stiles to skip three meals, even if it was to catch up on sleep.

“I think he was hoping the extra rest would remove the look of perpetual exhaustion from your face.” She theorized thoughtfully.

“Probably.” Juice was not a fan of the bags under his eyes. “Did it work?”

“Nope.”

“Damn.” Well, it was worth a try. “Are you just getting off work or going in?”

“I pulled a double yesterday. I have the day off. I slept a few hours and got up not long before you did.” She answered as they settled down together at the kitchen table.

“I don’t suppose you know where Juice ran off to?”

“I haven’t seen him. I assumed he was in bed with you.” She turned her head toward the entryway as if she would find her brother there. “I’m not sure where he is or how long he’s been gone.”

“I think he woke me long enough for me to take my meds, but I was out again after that.” He had no idea if Juice had climbed back into bed with him or left.

“What do you take meds for, if you don’t mind me asking?” She questioned inquisitively.

“High blood pressure and heart arrhythmia.”

“Had those long?”

“The high blood pressure since I was eighteen.” He had found out about that one not long after they had moved to Oregon. “Arrhythmia was triggered a few months ago.”

“Genetic?”

“Yep.” Straight from the Madock side of the family tree.

“Manageable or problematic?” He recognized the look in her eyes as she made the inquiry, she was a medical professional taking a history, though he doubted she was doing it on purpose.

“Manageable.” He thought so at least. “Fuck if I can get your brother to believe that, though.”

“He’s a worrier.” That was putting it mildly. “He always has been.”

“I am too, especially when it comes to my family’s health.” He heard his dad’s cholesterol was a _little_ high and changed his entire diet when he was in high school. “It’s just…”

“It’s different when it’s your own health.” She finished the thought for him.

“Yes, it is.” He was all too happy to preach to others about their health, but he would stick his fingers in his ears and hum whenever someone tried to talk to him about his own. “What kind of doctor are you?”

“Neurological surgeon.”

“My sister-in-law, Tara, was a neonatal surgeon.” Tara’s title was longer and more complicated than that but he could never remember the full thing.

“I thought about going into pediatric surgery or neonatal for about half a second. The idea of having a child under the knife is…” She did a full body shudder. “I mean, I operate on children, but I don’t enjoy it.”

“You enjoy cutting into adults?”

“Yes.” She answered quickly before her face contorted in horror once she registered what had come out of her mouth. “Shit, that sounded so bad.”

“No. No, it didn’t. Except, now, I think if you weren’t a surgeon, you would be a serial killer.” He deadpanned. “Or, hey, maybe that’s what you do in your spare time.”

“Well, now you’ve figured me out. Just don’t go into the basement and I won’t have to add you to my collection.” She said seriously.

It seemed to be a competition of who could keep a straight face the longest. They both broke at the same time, though at least Stiles could say he didn’t let out an undignified snort when he busted up laughing. It only set off another round of giggles that welcomed Juice and two of his other siblings into the house.

“It’s nice to see you two getting along.” Juice commented as he, Marianna, and Felix came in through the living room.

“I have to be nice to her or I will end up on her operating table in the basement.”

“She doesn’t have a basement.” Felix pointed out.

“Not that they know of.” Marisol quipped with a wink. “I can’t have them stumbling upon my extracurricular activities.”

“Ah, that’s smart.” Finding a bunch of mutilated cadavers in the basement might garner some questions.

“What the hell are you guys talking about?” Marianna asked with furrowed brows.

“Nothing.” Marisol waved them off. “Inside joke.”

“Inside joke?” Juice took a seat beside him at the table.”You two have an inside joke?”

“We do now.” He leaned in and gave his husband a peck on the lips, but the man was barely receptive to it, instead choosing to cast a suspicious glance between he and Marisol. “What? Are you jealous that I have an inside joke with _your_ sister?”

“No.” He denied petulantly.

“Should I remind you that you had my brothers everyday for nearly ten years, while I only had them during school breaks?” Juice had more time with Jax and Opie than he ever did. “How many inside jokes did you have with them?”

“Now I feel like an asshole.” He actually looked a little guilty, so Stiles elbowed him in the side.

“You are an asshole.” He patted the older man on the back. “So am I. It’s part of our charm.”

“Stiles and I had to do something when we woke up and you weren’t here. We got to know each other a bit.” Marisol explained. “Where did you go, anyway? How did you end up with these two?”

“I had something I needed to take care of in Staten Island,” He removed a folded up piece of paper from his pocket and handed it over to Stiles. “My ATM card wouldn’t work and I didn’t have enough cash to get back, so I called Fee for a ride.”

“I may have a reason for your ATM card issue.” He muttered as he read over what he was given. “An intake form for Sloan?”

“I thought you would want the peace of mind.” He held back a comment on how Juice needed the peace of mind more than he did. “What’s wrong with my ATM card?”

“Let’s go upstairs and I will fill you in.”

His husband followed him to the guest room without complaint. He sat down on the bed and seemed content to watch Stiles rifle through folders sitting on the dresser.

“What’s wrong with my ATM card?” He repeated after a beat of silence.

“It has the wrong name on it.” He handed over the manila folder he was given the previous day. “As do a lot of other things in your wallet.”

“Oh crap.” Juice went wide-eyed as he pulled out the contents of the package, looking shocked by what they said. “What did you do?”

“Beat up an informant, unintentionally shining a light on myself and everyone around me.” In other words, he had fucked up. “Oops.”

“Oops?” Juice exclaimed, picking up his new ID. “What does this mean?”

“It means that James Charles Stilinski is gone,” Christ that name was pretentious, but Juice didn’t choose it. He had told Braeden he wanted to keep his first two initials, and take the Stilinski last name, and let her do the rest. “Juan Carlos Ortiz lives again.”

“Juan Carlos _Stilinski_ , actually.” He read off the driver’s license. “What does this mean, Stiles?”

“They erased your entire criminal history and any connection to a criminal organization, starting after your eighteenth birthday.” He shuffled through the papers until he found the blank arrest record. “You have been an upstanding member of society for fifteen years. You were a mechanic at TM when you lived in California, that and your marriage to me, are the only things linking you to the Sons of Anarchy. You were never a club member –“

“Except I was.”

“You never gave anything to an AUSA, whether he thinks you did or not.” They could no longer use RICO against the club with the information Juice had provided for them. “You never did any time.”

“Yes, I did.”

“Not according to the federal government.” Or the ‘highest authority’ according to the director. “It’s all gone. Erased. Hard copies of files, depositions, and interview transcripts are being gathered and destroyed.”

“Why? What the hell did you do?” Generally when Juice asked him that it was laced with exasperation, now it was all hard accusation. “What did you give them?”

“Zobelle. I gave them Zobelle.” He sighed bitterly. “They told me to drop my investigation on Zobelle, and never look into him again. He must have some top level secrets to warrant that deal.”

“So, they told you to drop Zobelle, and you said ‘okay, but I want this –‘”

“No. I didn’t go in there making demands.” He wasn’t stupid enough to demand things from the likes of them. “They said ‘we did this as a consolation prize and show of good faith, and in exchange we want Zobelle.’ I wasn’t given a choice.”

“And if you were?”

“Don’t be stupid. I would have chosen you. Don’t act like you don’t know that.” If Juice did not believe that then they had a much bigger problem in their marriage. “They _offered_. I _accepted_. You are _free_.”

“You trust this?” He gestured toward the documents, to the deal.

“I have to. If it weren’t legit we would already be in federal lock up, awaiting extradition to Stockton.” They would be looking at a long sentence behind bars and the kids would be in foster care. “One time trade. Zobelle for you. No take-backs.”

“Are you sure?”

“They offered me this in one breath and a job in the next.” If they had plans to go back on the deal, to pull the carpet out from under him, he doubted the job offer would have come up. “So, yeah, I’m sure.”

Juice relaxed just a bit at the reassurance and took a deep breath. Stiles watched him fiddle with the drivers license and other cards, social security and ATM, nervously. They both knew this was a double-edged sword. It was dangerous for certain people to know Juan Carlos was alive, but that had always been a threat.

“What job offer?” He questioned finally, as he pulled out his wallet and began switching out his identification.

“They want me to join a special task force to bring down corrupt law enforcement in San Joaquin County.” If anything, Juice looked more freaked out by that than by his apparent resurrection. “I politely declined their offer. They told me to take a few weeks and think about it.”

“Bringing down dirty cops-“

“Puts our entire family in the line of fire, and I won’t do that.” As much as he would love to clean up San Joaquin, his lifestyle just didn't allow it. “It’s why I said no.”

“Fuck.” Juice didn’t take the time to look through the rest of the paperwork, instead shoving it all back in to the folder. “And Lydia said we were boring. Sure doesn’t feel that way now.”

“We had almost five years of peace.” They should have been more thankful for that. “Now, I think we have had enough excitement in the last week to last us another five years.”

“You think it’s all over?” Did he think everything would calm down now? Ha.

“I don’t know.” He answered honestly. “I hope it is. I am going to act like it is. Roll with whatever punches come our way.”

“Just like we’ve always done it.” They couldn’t really prepare for anything, because they never knew what was coming next.

“In the spirit of that,” He took the file from his husband and dropped it back with the other two. “Can we just be on vacation? No more feds or childhood trauma?”

“I have one more trauma to work through.” Juice confessed solemnly. “Angelo.”

“Your brother.” He knew Juice had not read the letter the priest had given him. He had been putting it off, waiting for the right time. “What do you want to do?”

“Go to church.” Stiles raised his brows in surprise. “Angelo left his letters there for a reason.”

“Do you want me to go with you? Do you need to go alone?”

“I have to read the letter on my own.” That was understandable. “But, I want you close, so you need to come with me.”

“Okay.”

“Father MacManus wants to meet you anyway.” Juice studied his face for a reaction. “He thinks you are troubled, and that some time in the confessional could do you some good.”

“Let’s not go crazy.” He held up his hand defensively. “You read your letter. I will chat up the priest. As for the confessional…yeah, no, that’s not going to happen.”

“I’m going to go to confession and then read the letter.” His husband informed him. “We get this done and we will finally be on vacation.”

“Think it will be that simple?” It was doubtful that they could revert to vacation-mode after the trip to the church. “Saying goodbye to your brother, even after so long, isn’t easy.”

“What would you know about it?” Juice snapped harshly. “We both know how deep Jax is buried. You have never said goodbye to him. You won’t let yourself.”

“I said goodbye to Ope.” His voice cracked and Juice’s face softened instantly. “I loved him the same way I loved Jax. He was my brother just the same.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” The older man looked apologetic, tears swimming in his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Me too.” He knew how fucking hard this was going to be for him. “We will get this done, then come back here and crash out.”

“Actually, we are going to eat, then go to church, and afterward I told Fee we would spend some time with him at his bar.” Juice having a few drinks wasn’t the best coping mechanism, but he couldn’t get drunk, so whatever. “My sisters will be there, Ray and Roxanne are supposed to show at some point. Felix says he wants to see how Ray acts without mom as a buffer.”

“And tonight is a great night to test that?” He did not want Ray to start shit with Juice while he was mourning his other brother.

“Being around my siblings, even Ray, is something I’m going to need tonight.” That was probably true. After losing Opie, the only person he wanted to be with was Jax. After Jax died, it was Opie and Tommy’s graves that he was drawn to.

“Okay. Food, church, bar.” They had a solid plan for the day. “You can cry in the privacy of my arms later, if you need to.”

“I will.” They had long since stopped trying to hide their tears in the shower, instead choosing to burrow into the others arms looking for comfort when they needed it.

* * *

 

Juice had made his way to the confessional as soon as they entered the church. His sister Marianna did not follow them into the cathedral, instead choosing to sit outside until they were through. Stiles took a seat in a pew near the front, staring ominously up at the crucifix, while Marisol and Felix sat a few rows back, giving him the illusion of privacy.

“Hello,” An elderly man wearing a collar and robes approached him. “You are Juan Carlos’s young man, yes?”

“Uh, yeah.” He couldn’t help but cast a wary glance toward the priest. “Hi, I’m Stiles.”

“Father MacManus.” He introduced himself. “May I sit?”

“Sure.” He spared a look at the confessional his husband was in as he sat down. “Shouldn’t you be…”

“Oh, no. Juan Carlos never trusted me with his confession.” That was surprising, given how much Juice seemed to like the man. “He was always too afraid I would tell his mother.”

“Oh.” In that case, he wouldn’t feel comfortable confessing to anyone who had his mother’s ear either. “Would you?”

“Of course not.”

“Hmm.” Stiles wasn’t really inclined to believe him, but that was his _paranoia_ , as everyone liked to put it. “He said you wanted to speak with me?”

“The Ortiz children grew up here, in my church. I’m very fond of them.” There was a paternal note to his voice as he spoke. “Out of all of them, Juan Carlos is the one that has changed the most. I think you might have something to do with that.”

“I would like to think so.” Whether the priest thought the change in Juice was good or bad, or which side he believed Stiles landed on, didn’t really matter to him. He contributed to both the good and bad in his husband’s life. “I haven’t heard him speak much about you. The times he has though, it's obvious that he respects you.”

“I’m glad.” The old man’s eyes flickered between him and the crucifix, a timid look adorning his face. “You are not comfortable here.”

“Uh,” The statement threw him, but he obviously wasn’t hiding his agitation well. “In a church? No, I guess I’m not.”

“Can I ask why?”

“Um,” His possession had a lot to do with it, but he was not going to admit that in present company. “The last time a catholic priest got involved with my family, he convinced my brother’s father that it was okay to abandon his dying son to start a new family with some teenager in another country. Over two decades later, that same priest sold my kidnapped nephew through catholic adoption.”

As it turned out, he could stun a priest into silence just as well as he could anyone else. He wasn’t really sure what to do with that information, but it was good information to have. He sat back in the pew and waited for the good Father to come to terms with what he had just said.

“I suppose I was right,” MacManus speculated uncertainly. “You are troubled.”

“I’m not insane.” He had been called _troubled_ before, right before his ass was locked up in Eichen House. Everyone there was troubled. “Everything I just said was true.”

“No, no. Not ‘troubled’ as in there is something wrong with your mental state.” The priest didn’t actually believe that if the side-eye he was getting meant anything. “A troubled past. There is a lot of pain in your heart. That is what I meant by troubled.”

“Uh huh.” Oh, sure then, he was troubled. “Well, who the hell isn’t?”

It was a faux pas to swear in church, he knew that, but Hell was written in the bible, so he was sure the Father had said it within the walls of the cathedral before. Still, the tight frown he got into return was enough to tell him he was trying the priest’s patience.

“You have a lot of sins that sit heavily on your soul.” The older man noted, as if he could see them all, live and in color. “Confession is a good way to unload some of that burden.”

“I’m not a catholic.” He wasn’t anything. Confession didn’t mean anything to him.

“You don’t have to be.” That might be true, but that did not mean he was going to spew his guts to some poor bastard. “When Juan Carlos was young, it seemed no matter how lost he became, how far away he got, confession always made him feel lighter. It lifted a weight off his shoulders. It is why he is here today.”

“That’s nice. I’m glad he had that outlet, that he’s finding his faith again.” It wasn’t his thing, but if it was what Juice needed then he would support him. “Most of the things he’s probably confessing in there were out of his control, or forced upon him. None of them were all his fault.”

Juice was more than likely running down a list of all the awful shit he had done since he left Queens. Anything he felt guilty for was being laid out for God to see, so he could do his penance and receive absolution.

“Me? I don’t want absolution. I am not looking for forgiveness from God.” It was not a higher power that he had wronged. “I knew the cost of my sins when I committed them. I knew how heavily they would sit on my soul and I committed them anyway. I deserve to carry that weight.”

He probably confessed more with that statement than he ever would in a confessional booth. Realizing that pissed him off.

“Look, I, uh, I don’t mean to be difficult.” He didn’t mean to be a dick, it was something that just happened. “I appreciate everything you have done for Juan Carlos. Faith and confession work for him, that’s great. He needs that. I don’t, and honestly, it’s not really my thing.”

“Perhaps you should try it first, before you decide.”

“No, thank you.” He was being as polite as he could be as he stood from the pew. “I’m sorry if I have offended you or your religion in anyway, it wasn’t my intention.”

“You haven’t.”

“Right.” He was sure he lost a few points here with someone, but oh well. “I’m going to go wait outside with Marianna.”

“You don’t have to do that.” The man protested just as the door to the confessional opened and Juice stepped out.

“I could use the fresh air.” He jerked a thumb toward the exit, to let his husband know where he would be, before offering the priest a smile. “It was nice to meet you.”

* * *

 

He watched Stiles leave the church with mild concern. He sent the priest a questioning look, only to receive a reassuring smile before the man turned and made his way to the rectory. Juice took a seat in a pew, rather than choosing to follow one them looking for answers he wasn’t sure he wanted. He removed the letter Angelo had left him from his pocket, while out of the corner of his eye he saw Felix take his place in the confessional.

His hands shook as he unfolded the aged paper. His older brother’s soft scrawl written neatly across the page put him at ease even as he read the words. Whatever reasoning he had as to why his brother had taken his own life was gone in the moment his eyes took in what it said. There was an overwhelming sense of grief coupled with understanding that settled over him as he scanned over the last _I Love You_ he would ever receive from his brother.

“I always knew MacManus was lying when he told us Angelo left nothing for you.” Marisol acknowledged as he sat next to him. “Angelo wouldn’t do _that_ without telling you why. He loved you too much.”

“Did you know?” He gestured to the letter in his hands as he tried to form the words. “Did you know he was sick?”

“No.” She shook her head, confusion marring her features. “I was in med school, training to be a doctor, and I couldn’t see that my own brother was sick, that he was dying.”

“After you told me what he had done, I thought maybe he was depressed and we didn’t catch it. Maybe I wasn’t there to notice.” Angelo had always been stoic, kept his emotions under wraps. It would not have been hard for them to miss it. “I never thought he did it because he was already dying.”

“I think depression was part of it.” She wiped tears from beneath her eyes. "It is part of the process patients go through when they are diagnosed with a terminal illness."

“The letter says that he didn’t want any of us to watch him die.” Angelo wanted to go out on his own terms, his own way. “I get that. I do.”

It was why he had gone into the woods when he made his choice. He didn’t want someone he cared about to find his body. Going so deep into the woods on Oswald’s land guaranteed only one of Oswald’s guys would find him. No one he loved was ever supposed to see him with that chain.

“The last time Angelo saw me, I was begging Ray to give me a fix.” He had been fighting against his eldest brother, with no strength. He had been shaking, screaming, and crying. Angelo had been in the doorway, just watching. “That’s one hell of a parting image, huh?”

“He hated seeing you that way. We all did.” He ducked his head in shame at her words. “We couldn’t help you. We weren’t what you needed. The only thing we could do was detox you, but it never helped, not really. It broke his heart that he couldn’t save you.”

“I never got to say goodbye.” He was staying in the church rectory one day and gone the next. There was no time for goodbye. “I should have called, but I didn’t. I didn’t think I had the right. I wanted to be better before I did, but by the time I was, Angelo was gone. I thought there would be more time.”

“We all thought we would have more time with him. We didn’t think we had much more with you.” He fought not to flinch at the truth of that. “That is why I sent you away. It was never to punish you. The drugs were killing you. You were killing yourself. I couldn’t let that happen. I thought sending you away would straighten you out, and if it didn’t then…”

“Then if I killed myself, you wouldn’t have had to watch it happen.” Yeah, he understood that, but it still hurt to hear that a part of her had given up on him.

“Bad things happened to you since you’ve been gone. I can recognize the signs. I’ve done ER rotations, worked the psych ward. You have a good handle on it. I can see that. So I’m not going to ask what happened.” He let the tension leak from his bones just a bit at that. “It doesn’t change anything. I don't regret sending you away. You are healthy now. You came through the darkness in the end. If you had stayed, you would be in the ground next to Angelo.”

“You did the right thing by making me go.” It was the only thing she could have done to make sure he didn’t end up dead from a drug overdose before he was twenty-one. “I needed to hit rock bottom and slam into every slab on the way down. It took me years to hit the very bottom, but when I did, I climbed back up.”

“You have no idea how proud I am of you for having the strength to do that. We are all so happy that you have found your way out of the misery you were trapped in when you lived here. Even if some of us won’t say it, we are _all_ proud of you.” He almost believed that. “Angelo would have been proud of you too.”

“You checked into this, right?” The mention of Angelo’s name brought him back to the letter in his hands, to the reason his brother committed suicide. “He really was sick?”

“I pulled his medical records. I made sure.” Of course she did. She would need the confirmation as much as he did. “Does knowing he was terminally ill make it better or worse?”

“I don’t know.”

* * *

He found Marianna sitting on a bench near the cemetery entrance. She was looking out at the rows of gravestones, a pained expression on her face that was quickly concealed when she caught sight of him.

“Sorry,” He apologized. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“I wasn’t doing anything.” She moved her glance away from the headstones and toward the church. “My brother still inside?”

“Yeah, he’s reading the letter Angelo left him, I think.” He would have assumed that was what he was doing since he came out of the confessional.

“I hope he’s not expecting much from it.” She shifted over to one side of the bench, leaving enough room for him to join her. “The only thing it is going to tell him is that Angelo gave up.”

“What makes you say that?” He questioned cautiously as he sat down. “You don’t have to answer that. Sorry.”

“He killed himself because he found out he had terminal brain cancer.” She explained in a strained tone. “Rather than trying to fight it, doing the chemo and shit, he just gave up.”

“Is that what his letter said? He was giving up?” Wording was important.

“He didn’t want us to watch him die.” She shook her head, a grim look on her face. “Bullshit.”

“My mom Claudia, she died of dementia. It was slow and painful. By the end, she couldn’t do anything for herself. She was confined to a hospital bed, with no idea who anyone was.” He clasped his hands together in front of him. “When I was seventeen, I started showing the same symptoms she had. One night, I slept walked out into the woods, on the coldest night of the year, and crawled into a coyote den to die.”

She tensed at the admission. Her face constricted in confusion mixed with sympathy as she waited for him to continue.

“My subconscious knew what I would do, so it did it for me. I was never going to put my father through the heartache of watching me die the same way my mother did.” He would crawl into a coyote den to die of exposure, before he put his father through that. “Have you ever had a family member die of cancer after doing the chemo or radiation?”

“Our uncle.”

“Angelo probably saw what he had gone through, seen the toll it took on your family, and decided that he didn’t want to add to that, especially if he was already terminal.” Chemo and radiation could have earned him a few more weeks or months, even with a terminal status, but it would not have changed the outcome. “I don’t see that as giving up.”

“You're still here, so obviously your trip to the woods was pointless.” She said rather than responding to his assessment of her brother’s mindset at the time of his suicide.

“My friend’s mom found me and took me to the hospital. My symptoms weren’t from dementia, but insomnia.” Nogitsune, actually, but she didn’t need to know that. “If I found out that I had dementia, or some other disease that was going to kill me, my reaction would probably be the same. I would not put my dad, Juice, or my boys, through the pain of watching me go.”

“Shouldn’t they get a say in that?”

“Sure, but in the end it would be my choice.” They would tell him to fight, because that is what you did, but it was not their decision. “Either way, whether I ended my own life or let the disease kill me, they would still hate me for dying, for leaving them, whether I wanted to or not.”

Hate was part of the anger stage of the grieving process. There was a measure of betrayal you felt when someone was taken from you, by their own hand or against their will. Sometimes that feeling went away, sometimes you held on to it to put off saying goodbye.

“I don’t so much think of it as giving up, as I think of it as making my death as easy on the people around me as I could.” It was an impossible task, really. Death was never easy. “I guess it all depends on your perspective of the situation.”

“Maybe those choosing to die should look at the perspective of the people they are leaving behind.”

“If the person is already terminally ill, they are not choosing to die, so much as they are choosing when and how they want to do it.” When your fate is already sealed, you want to take control of the choices you have left.

“Hindsight, knowing what you know now,” Marianna started, looking him in the eye. “If your mom was still alive and diagnosed with the dementia, would you want her to fight?”

“There is no fighting that.” Frontotemporal dementia did not have a cure. “If she wanted to die, I would have accepted that. If she wanted to let the disease take her slowly, I would have accepted that too. It would have been her choice. Eight-year old me never would have understood that. He wanted her to live, still believed she would up until the day she died. Adult me knows that is not how life works.”

“So, I should just forgive Angelo for killing himself, because he was sick?” She asked, getting down to the question that must have been sitting in the back of her mind.

“I don’t think what you’re feeling has anything to do with him killing himself. You can’t forgive him because he left you.” Death and the reasoning behind it didn’t really factor in. “It’s why I hate my brother, why I will never forgive him.”

“You two look like you are having the _best conversation ever_.” Felix’s sarcastic voice interrupted them.

“What the fuck do you want?” Marianna questioned her brother as they looked up to face the three Ortiz’s who had exited the church at some point during their discussion.

“I want to go get drunk at my bar. That was the plan for the rest of the day.” The youngest Ortiz reminded. “From the sad eyes everyone is sporting, I’d say we could all use it.”

“Sounds great.” Stiles said as he stood, wrapping an arm around his husbands shoulders. “Okay?”

“Fine.” Which meant he was feeling like shit, but didn’t want to get into it right then. “You?”

“I’m fine.”

“Let’s get going. We can get a good buzz on before Ray ruins the party.”

* * *

 

His siblings were trying to get Stiles drunk. That much he was clear on. For what purpose, he wasn’t sure, but it had to be nefarious. Unfortunately, they were under the mistaken impression that his husband drank like a college student or any other twenty-something.

They kept plying him with flavored vodka. Stiles did not drink vodka. Juice was fairly certain that the last time they drank vodka together, Stiles was seventeen, and they had gotten a little too close to Tig’s dick for comfort, and decided _never again_. Since Juice could no longer get drunk, Stiles kept shoving the vodka in his direction. Great plan.

Tequila was the next beverage poured into shot glasses. Juice and Stiles had a love/hate relationship with that particular drink. They loved it when they drank it, everyone else hated them. That hate was not entirely unfounded. The first time they had gotten drunk off the stuff together, they had fucked on the chapel table. There was probably still some of Stiles cum in the crevices of the reaper carving. The guys had never forgiven them for it.

So, when Felix started filling shot glasses with tequila, Juice had pushed them toward his sisters, because, while Stiles might accept that drink, he would also end up doing a strip tease on the bar after a couple shots. That was something for Juice’s eyes only.

“Your boy drinks like an old man.” His brother told him as Stiles poured himself a glass of scotch out of a bottle he had stolen from behind the bar.

“Yep.” It was a direct result of Stiles pilfering alcohol from his father and Chibs’ liquor cabinets for so long. He had developed a more refined taste in alcoholic beverages.

“You are the one who doesn’t want me to drink the tequila.” Stiles argued in defense of his drink.

“Remember what happened in the chapel?” There was a chance he didn’t remember the night itself, but he had to remember the morning after when the club found them.

“You wanna know a secret? That was more me than the tequila.” His husband admitted with a saucy wink.

“What?” Their romp in the clubhouse chapel was some kind of act of rebellion? An _up yours_ to SAMCRO? “Fuck you.”

“You did.” Stiles smirked. “I would have _fucked you_ on the reaper, but anyone could have walked in and you had a reputation to uphold.”

“Reputation....” Yeah, okay, it was one thing to like dick, it was another thing to be seen _taking it_ at the clubhouse. “I got my ass kicked for having the audacity to take a croweater in to the chapel for anything, let alone to fuck them there.”

“Hey, I was not a croweater yet. We weren’t breaking any club rules.” Yeah, he wasn’t a officially a croweater until they had been in the chapel awhile. “Really, we wouldn’t have had to use the chapel if the apartment or bathroom were free.”

“That’s true.”

“What the hell is a croweater?” Marisol broke into their banter.

“That is a great question,” Stiles smacked his hand on top of the bar and smiled at him. “Honey, you’ve had your fair share of them, why don’t you explain.”

“They were club groupies.” He might have enjoyed the way the grin fell from Stiles face, obviously he didn’t think Juice had an answer waiting for that question.

“You were a groupie?” The older woman sent Stiles a dubious look.

“Not so much. I have the ink, but I didn’t earn it by working my way through SAMCRO like most of the ladies did.” He only had to be with Juice to receive his title. “I never intended to get the ink. That was a drunken mishap.”

“We’ve all been there.” Felix clinked their glasses together. “You have never had a crazy night out until you’ve woken up with a tattoo you don’t remember getting.”

“Amen.” Marisol agreed, taking a shot.

“Is that how you got your scalp tattoos?” Stiles asked him, eyeing his head as if he could see them beneath his hair. “You were drunk?”

“No.” He was painfully sober that day. “Were you drunk when you got that tribal wolf on your left ass cheek?”

“Yes.” He nodded before narrowing his eyes at him. “If you are not the one who gave me that tattoo, then I have more questions about that night than answers.”

“I am not the one who gave it to you.” He would have remembered that. “It kind of looks like Happy’s work, though.”

“I would never let Happy that close to my ass with a tattoo gun.”

“Get enough alcohol in your system, and you will let anyone near your ass, tattoo gun or not.” Stiles was a slutty drunk. It was well known at the clubhouse. Thankfully, he never ended up in bed with any other SAMCRO members. “It’s amazing that no one took advantage of you after you had a little too much at club parties.”

“I was everyone’s little brother.” He shrugged his shoulders. “And croweaters thought I was adorable. Adorable isn’t sexy.”

“I saw croweaters try to rub up on you.” They learned quickly that Stiles was pretty much immune to their advances. “You always brushed them off with a polite ‘no, thank you.’”

“’Cause he’s gay, right?”

“I’m bisexual.” They both were. “I always told them no, because it didn’t turn me on that someone wanted to fuck me simply because of who my brother was.”

“The perks of that lifestyle were completely wasted on you.” Juice shook his head while a haunted expression crossed his husbands face. “What?”

“Nothing, it’s just…” He bit his lip and fiddled with his glass. “Jax said the same thing to me once, when I didn’t want to go to Red Woody with him.”

“Red Woody the porn company?” Felix inquired with way too much curiosity. “You’ve been to their studio?”

“I own fifteen percent of that studio.” Stiles glanced apprehensively at the other man. “It’s nice to see our fan base reaches so far.”

“You are part owner of a porn studio?” Marianna raised her brows.

“I inherited it.” He wasn’t exactly an active participant in the everyday business aspect of the studio. He was more of a silent partner.

“Can you introduce me to one of the Saffron Sisters?” Felix was practically bouncing with excitement like a horny teenager.

“I could, but I won’t.” He deflated instantly as Stiles let him down. “One of them banged both my brothers, while the other is my sister-in-law.”

“Oh.” Felix frowned, looking embarrassed. “Sorry.”

“We’ll get you a year-long subscription for your birthday, okay?” He patted his brother's shoulder consolingly.

“I’m going to hold you to that.” The younger man grumbled before the bell above the door jangled. “There’s Rox and Ray. _Yay_.”

“Don’t be an asshole.” Marisol chastised. “You have no reason to be. While Juan Carlos is in town, your head is off the chopping block. Ray’s focus is on him, not you. You should thank him for that.”

“Thank you.” Felix said in a mocking tone.

“Happy to help.” He drawled as his oldest sibling and sister-in-law made their way over.

“Isn’t drinking detrimental to your sobriety?” Ray asked in greeting, nodding toward his beer.

“I’m clean, not sober.“ There was a difference, for fucks sake. “It’s good to see you too, Ray.”

“How was church, sweetie?” Roxanne rubbed a hand down his back soothingly. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” He gave her a smile that he hoped was reassuring.

“Let’s go sit at a table.” Marianna suggested. “So we’re not crowded around the bar.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“I’m going to do the ‘give you some space’ thing.” Stiles told them.

“You don’t have to do that.” While the gesture was sweet, it was also unwarranted.

“Given earlier events, it is not hard to deduce that your conversation is going to gravitate to your brother.” He was probably on point with that assumption, but that didn’t mean he had to leave. “Having an outsider sit in on that is just going to make everyone uncomfortable.”

“You’re not an outsider.”

“I didn’t know him. It’s something you guys should do together. I will be over there.” Stiles pointed toward the pool table and took off that way before Juice could protest further.

“Hey Shel,” Felix called out to the woman working behind the bar. “We’re going to sit down. You want to bring us a plate of hot wings, when you get the chance, please?”

“Do I look like your slave?” She placed her hands on hips.

“You look like an employee who gets paid to serve customers.” Felix shot back. “We are the customers, while I am also disguised as your boss, who said please and everything.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll get your wings.”

Felix led them to a table in the center of the room, in full view of where Stiles was. When they first sat down, he took a seat that allowed him to keep an eye on his husband. He realized his mistake not long after Stiles had enticed another bar patron into a game and began racking balls.

“Hey,” He grabbed Roxanne’s attention. “Switch me spots.”

“Why?”

“Please.” He didn’t really want to vocalize the reason, so he made an awkward hand gesture in the general direction of his husband.

“Ah,” She glanced back and nodded. “Okay.”

He took her chair on the opposite side of the table, putting his back to Stiles. If he didn’t, he would have spent the evening staring at his husband ass while he bent over the pool table to line up a shot. And, well, he and Stiles had history with pool tables, and he doubted present company would appreciate them trying to recreate some of it.

“If you don’t want to enjoy the view, I will.” Roxanne smiled a little too brightly, leaning back in her seat and ogling Stiles unashamedly. “Kids got an ass you can bounce a nickel off of.”

"Abs aren't half-bad, either.” Marisol said conspiratorially, grinning coyly.

“How the fuck would you know?” He and Stiles worked out together to blow off steam, which resulted in Stiles putting on some muscle. His sister had no way of knowing that though.

“I changed the bandage on his chest his first morning in town. He had to take off his shirt for that.” She licked her lips lewdly. “He’s yummy.”

“I forgot what a light weight you are.” He chuckled, debating whether or not he should take away her drink. “Normally, you wouldn’t be so open about someone’s attractiveness.”

“It’s why she’s still single.” Marianna snorted behind her drink, earning a middle-fingered salute from their oldest sister. “She’s gotta be tipsy before she gets flirty.”

“And what’s your excuse?”

“I’m not single.” Marianna corrected. “I have been seeing the same man for several months.”

“This is the first I’m hearing about it.” Of course, he hadn’t really made any inquiries about his siblings love lives.

“How come we didn’t know about your guy until you showed up?” Alright, that was a fair point. “You have no room to talk, little brother.”

“Don’t feel bad, Juan Carlos, she hasn’t told us much about him either.”

“Must be serious then.” Marianna wouldn’t keep someone from her family unless she really liked him and wasn’t ready for their siblings to scare him off.

“It is what it is.”

“Okay, wings and fresh beers.” The bartender announced as she made her way to the table. “Enjoy guys and gals.”

“Why does she look familiar?” Juice asked as she walked away.

“It’s Shelly.” Felix said as if the name was supposed to strike a chord. “She was Angelo’s high school sweetheart.”

“Oh.” Okay, he remembered her now, a younger version of her at least. “Didn’t she move to Florida or something, after graduation?”

“Yeah, she came back for Angelo’s funeral, and decided to stay.” Ray leveled him with a glare. “His ex, who he hadn’t seen in years, showed up for his funeral, but his own little brother couldn’t.”

“Here we go,” Marianna muttered under her breath. “Can’t you be nice to our brothers for one damn day?”

“Oh, he was.” Juice referred to the one day they did not have an argument. “The morning after I had my nightmare, he was acting all sweet and nice.”

“He’s always nice after someone has a night terror.” Marisol pointed out. “It’s that good old catholic guilt weighing on his soul.”

“Hey, I’m not the only one who was pissed when he didn’t come home to pay his respects.” Their eldest brother claimed defensively, while his other siblings dropped their gazes to the table.

“I could either come to the funeral or pay for the casket. I couldn’t do both.” There was no way Clay and Gemma would let him leave Charming after giving him an advance on his paychecks at TM. “Having something to bury him in seemed more important.”

“And if you could have done both?”

“I wouldn’t have come back.” He answered honestly. “If I would have come back then, I would have stayed, and I couldn’t do that.”

“Why?”

It was an easy question to ask, but not to answer. He had his reasons for staying away, ones they were not aware of. They could not know the truth, not all of it, but that didn’t mean he had to lie either.

“When I lived here, I was out of control.” There was no denying it. They were all witnesses to his rebellion. “I learned to be steady in Charming.”

His mind was always running on overdrive when he lived in Queens. His head was always so loud and he could never shut it off. When he moved to Charming, he finally found a measure of peace. His mind calmed living in the chaos that came with club life.

“If I had come back then, it would have ruined that.” Angelo had put so much time and energy trying to keep him still, that he thought his brother might rather have Juice keep on that path, than risk falling back on old habits by coming home for a funeral. “Angelo would have understood that.”

* * *

 

Stiles reasons for distancing himself from the Ortiz siblings were not entirely altruistic. Yes, they needed time to reminisce about their lost brother without an outsider hindering their trip down memory lane. However, he also needed some space to really observe them.

This was the only the second time he had really spent with them as a group, the first time being at church the previous Sunday. He spent some time with Marianna and Marisol individually, but hadn’t had the chance to do the same with the others yet. He didn’t know if he would find the time to get to know each of them as people, rather than as his husband’s brothers and sisters, but he could learn quite a bit just by watching. So, he started a game of pool as a ruse, while he observed the dynamic of the Ortiz siblings from afar. He had a pretty good read on them, if he did say so himself.

Felix was so obviously the baby, and proudly owned that title. He had a bright smile and boyish charm that reminded him of the way Juice had been such a long time ago. There was a sadness to him, though. It was only seen if you looked hard enough. He had lost something and it had taken a piece of him.

He liked Felix, because he didn’t push Juice, didn’t ask him for anything. He seemed content just to be in his brother’s presence. He leaned into his space and hung on his every word. It was clear he had missed his big brother while he was away.

Marianna was not ‘unhinged’ as Juice had led him to believe. She was tormented by her brother’s suicide, but hid it well. She treated her younger brothers how he would imagine any older sister treated their younger siblings. She hazed Juice, in a good-natured way. While there was a time he would have given as good as he got, it was no longer his first instinct to throw it right back. He tried, but it was forced. Marianna picked up on that, of course she did, and looked hurt by his hesitation to give her a good ribbing, but let it go.

Roxanne was familiar in a way that put him on edge for reasons that had nothing to do with her. She was friendly, flirty. She was protective of Juice and never tried to make him feel guilty about his past. He respected her for that. She married into the Ortiz family, but had been one of them for so long that she fit like a puzzle piece they must have been missing before she came along.

Marisol was just as Juice had described. She was the caretaker. She was sisterly on the cusp of maternal. She babied Juice, and he let her, because it put a smile on her face. She always looked so heartbroken when Juice turned away. She would stare at his retreating back like she could see lashes from a whip, the wounds life had left on him.

Ray was a different story. He had Ray’s number, recognized him for who he was, even if Juice could not. He was a big guy. He had a coupe inches and a hundred pounds of muscle on Juice. He used his size to his advantage. He towered over his siblings to intimidate them. It brought a reaction out of Juice and Felix. They would look away, refuse to meet his eye, and curl in on themselves slightly. The girls didn’t bat an eye at Ray’s posturing, he didn’t scare them.

Something happened between the three brothers. He could see that, could fucking feel it. He didn’t know what it was, but it made him uneasy. Ray had a thing for riling Juice up. He would get in his face and throw his sins at him. At the same time, though, he tried to connect with his younger brother. He would look apologetic when he thought no one was watching. He wanted to be close, but held himself back. It was behavior Stiles had seen before and it off all kinds of alarm bells in his head when he realized where he had seen it previously.

* * *

 

“I don’t mean to break into this titillating conversation,” Roxanne cut into Ray’s berating of him about one thing or another. Honestly, he had stopped listening a while ago. “But, Juan Carlos, your man is spazzing out.”

“What?” He glanced over his shoulder to still Stiles practically vibrating in place and snapping his fingers. “Oh, no, that’s just how he gets when he’s figured something out.”

He snapped his own fingers to grab the younger man’s attention then proceeded to wave him over. He watched Stiles say a few words to the guy he was in a game with, before slapping a few bills into the dudes palm, which told him his husband was hustling pool, and not doing a very good job of it.

“Hey,” Stiles pulled a free chair over and sat beside him.

“What’s with the ‘aha’ face?” He questioned as his beer was stolen by the younger man.

“Oh.” He looked a bit sheepish as he pointed a finger at Ray. “I know who he is now.”

“I’m his older brother.” Ray spoke slowly, as if Stiles was an idiot.

“No, not who you are here.” Stiles corrected. “Who you were in Charming.”

“What?”

“Oh, no. No. Tell me you are not comparing my family here to our family there.” That was bad. So, so, bad.

“I’m not doing it on purpose.”

“Shit.” The smart thing to do would be to leave well enough alone, but he couldn’t help himself. “What do you got?”

* * *

 

Stiles was a little uncertain about answering that. Whatever he said wouldn’t mean much to the siblings, but Juice would take it to heart. It was likely that his husband would begin to see the parallels once he put name to faces.

“Okay, well, Felix would be Half-Sak.” That one was easy. Felix and Juice were on even ground, the same way Juice was with Sak.

“What the hell is a Half-Sak?” Felix asked incredulously.

“He was a club prospect that was killed trying to prevent someone from kidnapping Abel.” Juice told his brother. “He had a hell of a lot of balls for a guy who lost one in Iraq.”

“Okay…”

“Next.” His husband sent him an expectant look.

“Wendy.” He nodded to Roxanne.

“What?” Juice scrunched up his nose, looking affronted on her behalf.

“Before she started hitting the crack pipe.” Being around Roxanne made him miss that Wendy, which is why he kept his distance. Thinking like that was bound to lead him down a dark road with a long tunnel.

“Sure.” He jerked a thumb toward Marianna. “Her?”

“Uh, I mean this in the best possible way.” He meant no offense whatsoever. “Tiggy.”

“Oh my fucking…” He let out a strangled noise and eyed his sister like he was seeing her for the first time.

“Hear me out! I don’t mean his…twisted-ness.” He didn’t think she fucked corpses or whatnot, like Tig had a predilection to. “I mean how he used to pick on you, when you first showed up. He would push you to see if you would push back. He tried to get you to nut up, to stand up for yourself. That is what she does.”

“I do do that.” Marianna piped up.

“I’m not as scared to ask about her.” Juice said of Marisol.

“Donna.” Juice and Marisol’s relationship reminded him of the one he shared with Opie’s first wife.

“Yeah.” Juice smiled softly. “Yeah, I can see that.”

“Yeah.” He loved Tara, Lyla, and Wendy, but Donna held a special place in his heart, and he could see it was the same for Juice and his oldest sister.

“And him?” He nodded toward his eldest sibling.

“Clay.” He divulged quickly, as if he was ripping off a band-aid.

“Absolutely not.” Juice denied vehemently.

“Yes.”

“No, because I actually liked Clay.” The older Ortiz huffed, taking that to mean Juice did not like him.

“And I understand that now.” It all made sense once he put two and two together. “Do you want me to tell you why?”

“Only if you want me to tell you why you feel the need to tack on Claudia’s name after you say _mom_ , when speaking to those of us who are aware you had more than one.” Juice threw back at him. “I can psych 101 you, just as easily as you can do it to me.”

“A part of me also identifies Gemma as my mother, which forces me to make the distinction between them to myself.” He deduced simply, taking a swig of Juice’s beer. “My shrink already tagged me for that. Nice try, though.”

“Yeah, well, keep your theory about Clay to yourself, okay?” Juice pleaded. "I don't need to deal with my brother issues today."

"It's projected paternal issues, actually." He had projected his need for acceptance from his stepfather onto his oldest brother and then onto Clay.

"Save it for my next appointment with my shrink." He ordered just as Stiles cellphone decided to ring. “Answer that.”

“It’s Chucky.” He read the caller ID before accepting the call. “Hello?”

_“Hey Stiles, I have something to run by you.”_

“About what?” If this was going to be about another firearm incident at Teller-Morrow, he was going to murder the remaining SAMCRO members. “If a prospect shot off another gun at TM, I swear to God-“

_“No, nothing like that. They learned their lesson after last time.”_

“They better have.” He had driven to Charming personally to raise hell and strip prospect patches off the backs of potential SAMCRO members after the last two times. The liability insurance on the place went up the minute someone even reported seeing a gun on the garage premises. “What’s going on?”

_“Some paperwork was delivered to the office this afternoon.”_

“What kind of paperwork?” Paperwork cast a wide net.

_“Official TM stuff, the deed and insurance stuff. There are also deeds to Gemma’s house, the Knowles place, and the duplex.”_

“What?”

_“I didn’t think much of it at first. I thought maybe you lost some things and requested copies. The weird thing is, they all have Juice’s name on them, right next to yours.”_

“Um....” Fucking feds. “Well, I did request copies. I had all of it in a folder on my desk, and the kids were playing in the office and spilt stuff all over them.”

_“Oh.”_

“I must have forgotten to check a box and they added the extra name by mistake.” Sure, he forgot to check the box that said _widowed_ , and Juice’s name was smacked on the paperwork automatically. That made perfect sense. “All that stuff was supposed to be sent to my house. I guess there was a mix up and it was mailed there instead.”

_“Do you want me to send it to your house?”_

“No. I’ll come get it when I get back.” He had to meet with the bank about finalizing the sale on the duplex anyway. “Just put it in the file cabinet, please.”

_“Okay.”_

“Did anyone else see this paperwork?” It could be incredibly problematic if that information fell into the wrong hands.

_“Tig is the one who signed for it. He had to go home early because he was so upset about it.”_

“Would you have him call me? I’d like to explain the situation to him.” He would have to lie his ass off.

_“Yeah, I’ll have him call you.”_

“Great, thanks.” He hung up without another word, dropping his phone onto the table. He felt shaky as he turned his head toward his husband. “We could have a problem.”

“What happened?” Juice reached out a hand to cover one of his.

“Deeds to the houses and TM were delivered to the garage today.”

“So?”

“Your name is on all of it.” If Chucky had been the only one to see it then it would not have been such a big deal, the guy would believe any excuse he tossed out there, but he was not the only one. “Tiggy saw it.”

“Shit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [TUMBLR](http://www.stilinski-ortiz.tumblr.com/)  
> [Youtube](https://www.youtube.com/user/SandM1827/)  
>  Thank you for all the comments and kudos, they are greatly appreciated.


	8. I'm Dwelling On Things I've Never Noticed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd  
> Chapter title comes from September by One Less Reason.  
> Gif set: [What do you think?](http://stilinski-ortiz.tumblr.com/post/123112103427/son-shine-what-do-you-think-crossed-lines/)  
> Warnings: Mentions of past rape/non-con.

He was man enough to admit that he was feeling a little shaky as he sat down on the back porch. He lit up a joint he pilfered from Felix the night before, and dialed a familiar number on his cellphone. He tapped his foot nervously against the steps to accentuate his anxiety as he waited for the call to connect.

 _“You better have a good goddamn reason for waking me up this early.”_ The disgruntled voice on the other end of the line snapped.

“Sorry, Tiggy.” It was about eight in the morning in Charming, which could be considered early to most. “I forgot about the time difference.”

 _“Stiles?”_ He sounded more awake as he realized who he was on the phone with. _“Shit, kid, haven’t heard from you in awhile.”_

“Yeah, I know.” Chibs was the only Son he talked to regularly. He only had contact with the others when he returned to Charming to handle one thing or another.

 _“Chibby said you were in New York, visiting Juice’s family.”_ It wasn’t a lie, he did his best not to lie to everyone now, but it wasn’t the whole truth either. _“That’s nice of you, checking in on them and all.”_

“My intentions aren’t quite that noble.”

 _“You want to study them in their natural habitat.”_ Tig joked, knocking the nail on the head in the process. _“Have you figured out what they did to make Juice the way he was?”_

“It wasn’t only their influence.” SAMCRO played their part as well. “Hey, I, uh, I asked Chucky to have you call me.”

 _“I was going to. I didn’t get around to it.”_ He put it off, while Stiles had waited two days before giving in and calling the older man himself. _“What’s going on?”_

“Some papers arrived at TM. I guess they upset you.” They both knew what papers he was talking about. There was no reason to play dumb. “Documents that had Juice’s name on them.”

 _“I saw them.”_ There was a rustling on his end of the line, as if he was climbing out of bed. _“It was…”_

“It was a mistake. I forgot to check a box.” He threw out the same lie he told Chucky, hoping Tig would buy it. “I’m getting them fixed.”

 _“It was weird, you know? Seeing his name on a bunch of stuff after so long.”_ He admitted, sounding woeful. _“What was real strange was that on the forms, his last name was Stilinski not Ortiz.”_

“Well, we were married before he….” They may not have known at the time, but the club had become aware of that fact after Juice’s last stint in Stockton.

 _“But he didn’t have a chance to legally change his name.”_ He wasn’t sure whether to be impressed or irritated by the fact that it was Tig of all people attempting to call bullshit.

“I don’t know, Tiggy.” He scrubbed a hand down on face. “Maybe they made an assumption.”

 _“Maybe.”_ The older man replied doubtfully. _“Anyway, I thought was weird. Then I remembered how county wouldn’t hand over his body, and when they did it was just ashes. How are we supposed to know if it was really him?”_

“I don’t know.” He knew, Chibs knew, that the ashes buried beneath the headstone that read _Juan Carlos Ortiz_ did not belong to the man himself, but to some nameless prisoner that had no family or friends to claim him. “T-there was a lot going on at the time. I never really thought to question it.”

 _“Shit, kid, I’m sorry.”_ Tig apologized, obviously sensing his distress. _“I didn't mean to bring it up.”_

“I brought it up.”

 _“Just ignore me, alright?”_ His voice was strained with stress. _“Seeing his name brought up some old shit for me. I’m being a bitch about it.”_

“What old shit?”

 _“I miss the little bastard, you know?”_ No. No, he hadn’t known that.

“I figured you hated him like everyone else.” Jax had painted Juice out to be the worst kind of traitor and a rat. The idea that anyone in the club, outside of Chibs, would miss him never cross his mind.

 _“I did at first, when we only had Jax’s word to go on.”_ Who else’s word was there? Even if they could have spoken to Juice, they never would have believed him over Jax. _“A couple months after everything went down, when things had settled, Chibs called us all to the table. He told us everything.”_

“Everything?” He shuddered to think what that meant.

 _“The truth behind why Jax thought Juice couldn’t be trusted. His suicide attempt and his black daddy, and all that shit with Roosevelt and the AUSA. He explained about Darvany, and why Juice covered up Tara’s murder for Gem. He told us about everything that went down while Juice was in prison. He told us what Jax okay’d.... What Jax let Tully do.”_ He stumbled over the last statement. _“The club never would have agreed to that. No matter what we were told. We never would have let that happen to him. That was not a club vote – “_

“I know. I know you guys had nothing to do with it. That was Jax’s call and no one else’s.” The guilt of that sin lied with a man who never had to live with it. “So, knowing how Jax manipulated events to make everyone but him look like the bad guy, that changed your opinion on some things?”

 _“Juicy never got a fair shake. We didn’t get the full truth about anything. He fucked up, yeah, but so have I. When we were in Stockton, when Opie died, Jax saved me from Pope. He saved me from the same fate he sealed for Juice.”_ He saved one brother and damned another to live out the same torture. _“If we had known everything…none of that shit would have gone down.”_

“But it did.” Everything that Jax had ordered, including Mayhem, had happened. The only difference was that Juice didn’t stay dead. It did happen, though, and they could not take that back. It couldn’t be erased.

 _“I know it did. You should know, I don’t know if Chibs has told you, but we made it right.”_ There was nothing in the world that could make any of what happened to Juice right. _“Hap and I, we took care of that personally.”_

“What does that mean?”

 _“Lin’s men, the ones who…”_ The ones who had raped Juice in the infirmary. _“We took ‘em out. We made sure they knew what a mistake it was to hurt Juicy.”_

“And Tully?” He knew the answer to that. Tully was alive and well, sitting pretty at Stockton. He kept himself informed when it came to that particular devil.

_“We’re working on it.”_

“It’s been five years.” It did not take that long to put out a hit on somebody. “Work faster.”

 _“We are trying to smart about this.”_ Stiles chuckled despite himself, because that was the exact same thing Juice had said about punishing Sloan. _“We have to make deals, earn some favors. We don’t want anything to blowback on the club. We do not want to start a war, not when we have finally gotten out from under all this shit. It will get done, Stiles, I promise.”_

“I’ll hold you to that.” Juice would want them to be smart about it. He would not want a war started in his name. “Are you handling him personally or getting another crew to do it?”

 _“It’s a family problem. We handle that ourselves. SAMCRO will take care of it.”_ The club was not going to bring an ally into their personal vendetta. That was smart. It was something Clay and Jax never learned. _“Shit’s falling into place. It won’t be long now.”_

“I want in.”

_“What?”_

“I want to be there when it’s done.” He wanted to see that it was done, that he wasn’t being placated or lied to. He needed to see Tully’s rotting corpse himself.

 _“It’s going to go down at Stockton.”_ That was a given. He didn’t really think that would plan some sort of jailbreak like they had done with Clay. _“You cannot be there for that.”_

“Just give me a date and a time. I will figure it out.” He would find a way to be there. He still had his bag of tricks.

 _“Nothing is set in stone yet, and even if it was, Chibs would never allow you to help out.”_ He scoffed at the insinuation that Chibs could stop him. Tig obviously forgot who he was talking to. _“Look, we let that happen to Juice, you didn’t. Let us handle it.”_

“Tig-“

 _“Shit like this, revenge, it changes you. We ain’t gonna let you in just to watch you turn into Jax.”_ Fuck if that wasn’t a reality check bitch slapping him in the face. _“Trust us to take care of this, okay? Trust us to take care of Juicy.”_

“I trusted you to take care of him before.” He had sat at that table and listened to each of them tell him that Juice would be fine in County, and that he could return to his family so long as he did what he was told. It was all a dirty lie.

 _“I know you did, and we did a piss-poor job of it.”_ That was putting it mildly. _“We won’t fuck it up this time.”_

“Make sure that you don’t.” If they could not take care of Tully, he would find a way to do it himself.

* * *

 

He and Stiles were similar in a lot of ways, but different enough not to clash. One of the most distinct difference’s was how they handled stressful, possibly life threatening, situations. Stiles took the direct approach or went into planning mode, ensuring that they had multiple contingency plans for whatever problems may arise. Juice wasn’t as dramatic. His mind tended to go into what he called _safe mode_. He let his OCD take over in a poor attempt regain some control when he felt he was losing it.

He was doing that now. He had spent the morning cleaning his sister’s house from top to bottom. He was pretty sure the smell of bleach was part of his natural aroma now. He had already scrubbed through the bathroom and dusted the living room. He was currently washing down the countertops in the kitchen while his mother and Marisol watched from the table with thinly veiled concern.

“Juan Carlos, you do not have to clean my house.” He older sister commented.

“I know.” She had said as much when she first caught him doing it.

“Seriously, you are making me feel inadequate.” She should feel that way about her cleaning skills. The dust caked around this place was starting to take on a life of its own. “Fuck you. I know how to clean my house.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were thinking it.” That might be true, but she couldn’t prove it.

“Are you okay?” His mom asked after a moment.

“I’m fine.” He had to stop using those two words together. It was Stiles' tell, it did not need to be his too.

“You do know that I am your mother, right?” She looked at him quizzically.

“Yes.” It was not the kind of thing you forgot. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“You can tell me things.” Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Marisol facepalm herself at their mother’s words. “If you need to talk about something, I am here to help.”

“Uh, I appreciate that.” He wouldn’t be taking her up on that offer, but it was a nice gesture.

“So, do you want to tell me why you are so tense?” If he wanted to tell her, he would have already.

“Family shit.” He answered as honestly as he could, only to be met with identical expressions of confusion. “ _Charming_ family shit.”

“Anything I can help with?”

“Stiles is handling it.” He would have handled it himself, but their Charming family had to believe he was six feet under.

“What happened that needs handling?” There was no force on Heaven or Earth that could get him to open that can of worms to her or anyone else that shared his DNA.

“Complications from old sins.” That was about all he would say on the subject.

He turned away from the table to signal the drop in that line of questioning. Charming, his reasons for leaving Charming, were for people involved in that part of his life. His family in Queens was not and would never be allowed access into that time in his life.

The sound of a door opening and footsteps pulled at his attention. He glanced over to see his older brother joining his mom and sister at the table. He fought the urge to sigh. Ray was a gigantic pain in the ass and he did not want to deal with him.

“No Roxanne today?” He could usually count on her to keep Ray in line when he decided to be a bigger asshole than usual.

“She’s working.”

“Lucky her.” He muttered under his breath.

“What was that?” Of course, the bastard would hear him.

“Nothing, Ray.” He waved his brother off.

“You will behave, Raymond.” Their mother ordered the older man.

His brother gave nothing more than a grunt in response. If Juice were anyone else, Ray would obey the command without complaint, because it came from their mother. Suffice to say, bitching Juice out was Ray’s favorite pastime, and he would probably ignore her just to get a few knocks in.

The back door opened before anyone said anything further. Stiles walked in looking haggard, a little worn around the edges, but that was how he normally looked. There was nothing on his face, or in his body language, that suggested the call to Tig went badly.

“How’d it go?” He asked while he moved to the sink to rinse off the rag he had been using.

“He’s suspicious.” Stiles leaned against the counter. “He was more sad than anything.”

“Sad?” What the hell did Tiggy have to be sad about? “Why was he sad?”

“He misses you, dumbass.” His hands froze under the water as he lifted his eyes to send his husband an incredulous look. “Does that surprise you? You were friends for a long time.”

“He hated me.” Everyone in the club, even Chibs, had hated him.

“That was when they were being told lies and half-truths by Jax.” Residual anger for his brother’s actions sat heavily in Stiles tone. “Chibs told them the truth, the full truth. They know what happened wasn’t fair to you.”

“Does it matter?” The truth would do little to appease them.

“They never would have voted for half the shit they voted for, if they knew everything.” Everything was an incredibly daunting word. It cast an incredibly wide net in the grand scheme of things that had happened while he was in Charming. “Tig said they didn’t know what happened in Stockton until Chibs told them. They never would have okay’d that.”

“They all know?” He wanted to relax with the knowledge that they would never agree to let a psychopath violate him, but he couldn’t. It was the fact that they knew he had been used as someone’s fucktoy that made him uneasy.

The only person he had ever told, aside from his shrink, was Stiles. Chibs knew, but Juice never said a word to him about it. He supposed Stiles had done it in a fit of mournful anger when he thought Juice was dead. He suspected Stiles sent the words like a jagged knife through Chibs heart, placing blame where he thought it was due. Stiles blamed Jax and Tully for the brutality, but he blamed Chibs for not stepping up to protect him from something he knew nothing about.

Chibs blamed himself too. Juice saw the guilt written on his face when he thought he wasn’t looking. It came to a head once, when the Scot had shown up at their house, drunk off his ass, unsure of how he had gotten there. He spent the whole time crying and begging Juice for forgiveness, while Juice had asked the same from the older man for his sins against the club. They ended up in a puddle of snot and tears on the cement floor of the garage, until Stiles had ushered them inside and the three of them had curled into bed together.

If Chibs had told the others what had happened to him, then it was because he felt like he needed to. He probably did it to show the gravity of the situation, to make them really see how far gone on anger and vengeance Jax had been at the end. There was no ill intent, he was sure of that.

“They’ve been trying to make it right.” He raised his brows at that, interest piqued. “Happy and Tig _made it right_ with Lin’s crew.”

“Oh.” ‘Made it right’ was SAMCRO speak for having an enemy taken out. “When?”

“Not long after we _moved_.” Not long after he had been pronounced _dead_. “Tully will be done soon. They had to make sure it was the right time.”

“Right time, yeah.” He felt a little lightheaded trying to digest the information being thrown at him. “Good. That’s good.”

“Yeah, it is.” Stiles nodded as Juice turned off the faucet and dried his hands.

“I guess you can cross a name or two off that list, huh?” He removed the sheet of paper from his pocket.

“Why do you even have that? I thought you might burn it. Plausible deniability and all that.” He made grabby hands for it but Juice kept it out of his reach.

“Do you want to explain your hit-list to me?” He had kept it on him since he found it. Kind of like how Stiles was still wearing the SONS ring Gemma left for Abel. They both believed if they kept the items close, then they could prevent the owner from heading down a dark path.

“It’s not a list. It is a diagram.” Stiles corrected.

“Yeah, I noticed that. You have Tully’s name written with an arrow pointed toward Zobelle.” The meaning was clear, Stiles intended for Tully to take out Zobelle. _How_ was the question.

“I was going to tell McCall, in a room full of Feds so I had witnesses, that putting Zobelle back in San Joaquin was a bad idea. And, that he should keep him away from Tully, because they could do a lot of damage together.” Tully was a shot caller for the AB and Zobelle had deep ties to the Brotherhood as well. It was not hard to see where they could cross paths.

“Very true.” If Tully had access to Zobelle’s money and connections, it would make the AB top dog.

“Naturally, McCall would do the exact opposite of what I told him to do. He would also feel the need to rub it in my face that he got Zobelle a meet with Tully.” Therefore ensuring that Stiles would know when the meet would take place. “Some money would have to exchange hands with a prison guard. Right before the meeting, the guard would tell Tully that Zobelle is an informant.”

“Which would make Tully believe Zobelle was only there to gather information.” Okay, he was starting to understand now.

“Tully would kill Zobelle. The AB, not knowing Zobelle was a rat,” Because Tully would not have had time to tell them before the meeting. “Would kill him for taking out someone who could be influential to their cause.”

_“Jesus Christ.”_

“None of it would ever be traced back to me.” He would have made sure of that when he told McCall _not_ to go to Tully, and he would’ve used a third party to pay off the guard. When Stiles planned to commit a crime he was methodical about it. “What do you think?”

“I’m a little turned on.” Who knew listening to his husband plot murder could get him all hot and bothered?

“Seriously?” Ray remarked incredulously, and fuck, Juice had forgotten he and Stiles weren’t alone. “He basically planned to have two people killed and your response is that it makes you hard?”

“Tully and Zobelle are not people.” Stiles snarled viciously in the older man’s direction.

“Hey,” He latched his fingers around Stiles wrist to draw his focus back to him. “It’s a good plan.”

“Damn right.” His husband agreed. “And, you know, nothing says true love like multiple counts of murder.”

“That is so true.” He was sure he heard Jax say something along those lines to Tara shortly before they were married. “It was a good plan, but you don’t need to use it.”

“I can’t use it. I can’t touch Zobelle.” He told the Feds he would drop it, probably signed legal documents to seal the deal. “It would have worked out perfectly though.”

“Yep.” It was kind of terrifying the way Stiles mind worked sometimes, it was that way of thinking that would have made him an asset to SAMCRO. “Do you remember that morning that Tara walked in on Jax with Ima? Opie was being a dick to Lyla. Clay was at the hospital with Gem. You decided to take charge and started ordering all of us around. The prospects thought it was hilarious that we were listening, because they didn’t know your place in the club yet.”

“I didn’t have a place in the club.”

“It’s adorable that you think that.” Stiles had always been an unofficial SAMCRO member. “Anyway, while you were putting the prospects in their place and making Opie apologize to Lyla, Bobby made a comment about how in moments like that we understood why Gemma wanted you to eventually patch SAMCRO, but we could never let it happen.”

“What the hell does that mean?” For someone who never wanted to be part of the club he sure looked offended by the idea that they did not want him in it.

“If you had joined the Sons, you would have usurped Clay and Jax.” Not intentionally of course, but it would have happened. “You would have sat at the gavel as Pres.”

“Gemma wanted me to join SAMCRO to sit at Jax’s left, to be his counsel.” That would have been the original intent. However, when Stiles saw Jax fail at his duties, he would have put himself in the position of power, president’s patch or not, just as he had done before. “What does any of that have to do with anything?”

“Your hit-list/diagram thing?” He waved the paper in his hands. “Another one of those moments when I understand Gemma’s reasoning, but it can never happen. You could do way to much damage wearing a kutte.”

“Yes, but I wouldn’t let people get caught in the crossfire.” That is part of what would make him a better leader than Jax or Clay. His thorough planning would put him a step above the others. It is also what would make him the most dangerous. “And I would never join SAMCRO.”

“What if Gemma had raised you?” It was something he had thought about before, but had never been dumb enough to bring up. “Do you think you would have joined then?”

“If Gemma had raised me, I would be dead right now.” Stiles snarked, in lieu of an actual answer. “Just like all the other children she raised.”

A collective silence fell over the room at the younger man’s glibness. To those, like his family, who didn’t know Gemma or the full story, it probably sounded horrifying. Stiles spewed things like that as if it were a normal statement to say, nothing wrong with it at all. Their Charming family and John would brush it off, because to them there was nothing shocking about it or the way Stiles casually said it.

“I guess this would be a bad time to suggest you take Gemma with you to the next appointment you have with the shrink.” The look Stiles shot him was absolutely murderous. His eyes even flickered to the butchers block of knives sitting on the counter and Juice took an instinctual step backward. “Was that too far? It was. That was too far. My bad.”

“If I’m taking Gemma, you are taking Michael Cole.” Stiles shot back with a challenging look. “Of course, he can’t get a day pass out like Gemma could, so you’ll have to take your therapist with you on visitation day.”

“Okay, that’s fair.” It wasn’t, Stiles had spent years in Gemma’s presence while Juice had not spent a second in Michael Cole’s. He was not going to point that out, though, because being on the receiving end of his husbands temper was not in his plans for the day. “Let’s drop the bio-parents convo for now, or forever, okay?”

“Coming from the one who brought it up to begin with? Sure.” Stiles shrugged his shoulders. “What do you want to talk about?”

“I’m cleaning.” He tried, because Stiles was pissed and he had made him that way. Any discussion they had would be tainted with anger now.

“You are stress cleaning.” The younger man noted, voice softening. “I talked to Tig. We are in the clear, more or less.”

“More or less…” They were not entirely in the clear and that was what worried him.

“Want me to take your mind off it?” Considering the amount of people in the room, he doubted Stiles meant that in a kinky way.

“What do you have in mind?”

“A complete invasion of your privacy, that has me delve into any childhood trauma you may have suffered, that would explain your relationship with him.” His husband jerked a thumb toward Ray.

“You said we were done with childhood trauma.” And that was after Juice had overstepped and invaded his privacy.

“It is bugging the shit out of me.” He actually seemed visibly frustrated by it.

“I told you nothing happened between Ray and me when I was a kid.” They had been over this already. “I thought you had figured that out when you decided he was Clay.”

“No, I figured out that you projected your need for acceptance from a paternal figure from your stepdad to him and then to Clay.” Well, fuck, that theory might hold some substance. “Your actual relationship, as brothers, is different. You said you do not _remember_ anything happened, that doesn’t mean nothing did.”

“Excuse me?” Ray gaped at him, looking insulted.

“Don’t look so innocent, it’s obvious something happened.” Stiles accused the older Ortiz brother, before shifting back to Juice. “I delve into your childhood trauma and you can look at the book my mom left me.”

“What makes you think I want to?”

“I don’t know, the way it catches your eye every time you see it.” He had no idea he was being so transparent about it. He was only curious.

“Counter argument,” He did not need any repressed memories being dragged from his subconscious mind. “I look at the book your mom left you, and my mom shows you the pictures of me she’s been hiding in her purse.”

“You would sacrifice some dignity, let me see baby Juice, rather than figure out why your older brother is such an ass to you and Felix?” Ray huffed indignantly while Marisol let out a bellowing laugh.

“ _Possible_ childhood trauma,” He stressed the word _possible,_ hoping there was nothing there. “Or pictures of me in a diaper?”

“I have pictures of you in a diaper.” A shit-eating grin overtook the younger man’s face. “There was also a sign stapled to your chest-“

“I am going to kill Tig.” He would kill him dead, painfully, and horribly. Had to be done.

“Actually, Bobby gave it to me not long after you and I started seeing each other.” Traitorous bastard. “You can’t kill someone who’s already dead.”

Stiles always spoke about the dead so thoughtlessly. It was a defense mechanism. They had lost so many people that the only way Stiles could speak about them was with undertones of sarcasm. It was all he could do to keep himself from falling back into grief.

“Pictures or trauma?” He put the choices out there once more.

“Pictures.” Stiles ceded. “If you are still willing to share, Antonia?”

“Of course.” The woman in question patted the chair beside hers. “Come sit down.”

Juice headed up the stairs as Stiles joined his mother at the table. The book was sitting on top of the dresser, where he had left it after his meeting with Mieczysław. He retrieved it quickly before trudging back to the kitchen, and taking a seat at the end of table since his mom and sister were bracketing his husband.

His fingers carefully glided over the lettering gracing the cover. He hesitated before opening it, glancing up at Stiles face to see a tight, guarded, expression on it. The younger man stared at the book as if it were Pandora’s box. Maybe to him it was.

“I don’t have to.” He didn’t want to look though it if Stiles was uncomfortable with it.

“It’s okay. Go ahead.” He was sure the younger man was trying to sound reassuring, but fell short.

He did not read the inscription on the first page. That was for Stiles only. The second page was a photograph of a newborn Stiles, naked with the exception of a diaper and a hospital bracelet, his mouth open in a cry. _Nathaniel Thomas Stilinski, April 08, 1996, St. Thomas Hospital, Charming, CA,_ was typed beneath it.

The third page was of John holding the infant, looking so proud of the baby in his arms. It was an expression that John still looked at Stiles with. Beneath that photo it read, _Nate and Daddy’s first photo_.

The first couple of pages were of Stiles childhood pre-Claudia, at least until he reached a section that held nothing but a collage of Halloween photos. In the oldest one, Stiles had to have been around three or four years old. It was taken at a carnival, Stiles was resting on John’s hip, a plastic jack-o-lantern in his hands, and there was a pretty brunette woman, who he recognized from photos around John’s house, standing beside them.

“That’s your mom?” He lifted the book high enough for Stiles to see who he was talking about.

“Yeah. That was their unofficial first date.” He smiled briefly. “From what I understand, she and Aunt Sawyer were released that morning. Mom confronted Dad at the station, raising hell, because the film from her camera wasn’t with the personal effects returned to her.”

“Where was it?”

“When she was arrested, she told him that she had a deadline she couldn’t miss. Dad got her work address from Sawyer while mom was being processed, and overnighted the film to her publisher.” Of course, John would do that, even for someone he had arrested. “She was a bit flustered when she found out. Sawyer and the other deputies saw some sort of connection between them, and conspired to have them run into each other later that night at the Halloween carnival.”

“The carnival where you were a sheriff’s deputy?” The costume Stiles was wearing was almost identical to the ones the deputies in Beacon Hills wore today.

“I'm pretty sure that I was a deputy every Halloween that I dressed up for, except one. I went as Batman in middle school.” He scrunched up his face. “Actually, those first few years I dressed up as Dad, in his deputy’s uniform, and then later I was a deputy because that’s what I wanted to be when I grew up.”

Stiles turned his focus back toward the pictures his mother was laying out in front of him, while Juice was left to mull over that statement. Stiles dream of being a cop stemmed from the hero-worship he had for his father. A week ago, Juice would have smiled because Stiles had worked hard to get what he wanted, to become the police officer he had wanted to be since he was a child. Now, though, he was sour, because Stiles had given it all up.

He sighed and turned to the next page. There was no picture, but instead an inscription written in neat script.

_‘It may sound like a cliché, but you need to always follow your heart. It will never lead you in the wrong direction. It does not matter what others tell you or what your head tells you. The only thing that matters is where your heart takes you.’_

He lifted his head to study his husband more closely, thinking about that passage and Stiles giving up his badge. He didn’t doubt that turning over his shield and weapon was the right thing to do. If Stiles couldn’t trust the people he worked with, then he would constantly be looking over his shoulder while walking into dangerous situations. His focus would be split, which would put him in jeopardy when out on patrol.

“Are you staring for a reason?” The young man didn’t spare him a glance, he stayed bowed over the photo’s he was being shown. “Or do I look that good with a couple days worth of stubble on my face?”

“I do like the stubble.” He chose to ignore Ray’s long-suffering sigh.

“But?”

“Maybe you should take the few weeks, like the Feds said. At least think about that job offer.” Perhaps he had been to rash to brush it off without even considering it.

“We both agreed it was a bad idea.” Logically, yes, it was. “It puts our family at risk. Dirty cops do not have limits. We both are well acquainted with that fact, which is why the Feds want me on their team to begin with.”

“Look, stop thinking about it with your brain.” He tapped his fingers against Claudia’s words in the book. “Don’t fucking laugh at me when I say this, but think with your heart not your damn head.”

“My heart, really?” To his credit, there was only the barest hint of condescension in his voice. “When it comes to things like this, what my heart wants doesn’t mean shit.”

“So you do want to take that job.” He read between the lines.

“My family’s safety means more to me than some club.” Stiles insisted then stilled when he realized what he had just said. “Job. It means more to me than some _job_.”

“Wanting to clean up San Joaquin isn’t going to turn you into Jax.” He knew that was a fear that sat in the back of Stiles mind. “It is not the same thing.”

“Staying with SAMCRO put those kids in danger. Jax knew that and believed the club meant more. He couldn’t let it die. He willingly put his wife and children in harm’s way.” Stiles finally lifted his gaze to glare straight into Juice’s eyes. “I won’t make the same mistake. Taking that job comes with a bigger risk than the club, because while criminals have a moral code, cops on the take do not.”

“Adjust the offer.” He didn’t have to go to San Joaquin and be in the thick of it to do the job. “Work from the Portland office in a research capacity.”

“You want me to stuff myself in some musty office?” The younger man cringed in distaste. “Do you remember how well that worked out for you? Our home phone does.”

“Not my finest hour.” He could not be held accountable for his actions while working for technical support. “What are you going to do if you aren’t a cop anymore?”

“Do we have to do this here?” He gestured toward their present company.

“No.” Starting that particular conversation here was not a good idea. “We’ll do it when we pick up the boys, so your dad can put his two cents in. You did tell him that you turned in your badge, and about all that shit with Zobelle, didn’t you?”

“I am two seconds away from digging into your childhood trauma and taking that book back.” He threatened, reaching over the table as if he would snatch it away.

“No!” He gripped it tighter. “I’ll shut up about your career…for now.”

“Thank you.” He didn’t sound very thankful, but Juice wasn’t going to call him on it. “Antonia, I am seeing a lot of adorable toddler Juice. Do you have any mortifyingly embarrassing?”

“Let me show you the Christmas pictures he and Felix would get done as their gift to me.” Juice groaned, remembering those photos. They were intentionally dorky, but were only supposed to be seen by their mother. “From that response alone you can tell how much he wishes these all disappeared.”

“Oh, this is going to be good.” Stiles practically bounced in his seat, previous hostility washed away. His mother patted his arm to settle his energy, causing the younger man to flinch at the contact.

No one but he and his mom seemed to notice it. Stiles recovered quickly enough, offering her a small smile and taking a few pictures from her hands. His mother’s eyes flickered up to his, and like he had done that first day at the church when she had hugged Stiles, he did his best to convey that she didn’t do anything wrong. She didn’t seem convinced, but Juice had no intention of dragging anymore of Stiles issues out into the open today.

The flinch, though, and the way Stiles tended to pull away from a maternal touch, was something that bothered him. Stiles was perfectly fine letting Malia, Lydia, or Kira hang off of him, but if Melissa, Noshiko, or his mom brushed their fingers innocently against him, he would jerk away or take a step back. Honestly, it was the main reason he wanted Stiles to take Gemma with him to therapy, so he could work out the issues that were related to the matriarch.

He bent his head back over the book, relaxing only when he heard his husband giggle over the photographs from Juice’s childhood. He flipped through the pages, looking over a few of Stiles own childhood memories. There were plenty of Stiles and John, and an exceptionally beautiful one of Stiles and Claudia taken at a bridal shop. He flipped randomly though the book until he froze on a black and white photo that had his breath catching in his throat.

It was taken in Charming. The Teller-Morrow sign hung prominently in the background. Stiles was just a little boy in the photo, standing on scuffed up sneakers. His fingers were latched around the leather of a kutte. He was gazing upward with unabashed adoration. Jax had what looked like engine grease on his cheek, and a bright grin on his face as he looked down at the kid. There was so much love being passed between the brothers, he had no idea how Claudia’s camera lens had not shattered at the fierceness of it.

It hurt his heart to be reminded of how close Jax and Stiles once were. Stiles was still so much that little boy pulling at his big brothers kutte, begging for attention. Now, though, it was not the club or Gemma pulling Jax away. It was Stiles hate and Jax’s death. The bond they shared had been severed, the wound never cauterized. It still bled. It would keep bleeding until it killed Stiles. God knows he would never staunch the wound.

He sighed as he closed the book, not wanting to see anymore. He cast a superstitious glance toward Ray, suddenly thankful their relationship was shaky at best, and nothing like the one Stiles and Jax had shared. Perhaps, that meant he would not wallow in grief the rest of his life when Ray inevitably passed away, preferably of old age.

Once upon a time, he had longed to be close to his siblings. He had felt close to Angelo and Felix, they were the two he had gravitated toward the most. Losing Angelo had broken his heart, but he couldn’t help but think that losing Ope, Piney, and Bobby, hit him ten times harder. Maybe physical proximity had something to do with it. He had been on the opposite side of the country when Angelo had died. He had been close enough to see two of his fallen brothers buried.

“I’m digging the elf ears, babe.” He jerked his head up and winced at the picture of him dressed up as an elf. He couldn’t even blame childhood antics, he was twelve when that one was taken. It was done purely to make his mom laugh on Christmas morning.

“They were Felix’s idea.”

“Liar.” _Every single person_ at the table called him out on the fib.

“Shut up.” He was most definitely going to ply John for less than cute pictures of Stiles from when he was a kid.

“Here’s a family photo.” Marisol chose one from the pile, showing it to Stiles. “There’s Juan Carlos, me, Fee, Marianna, Ray, Mama, Angelo, and our dad.”

“Huh.” Stiles offered her a consoling smile, obviously not missing the way her breath hitched over her brother and fathers names. Juice didn’t think anyone missed the suspicious glance Stiles leveled at Ray. “You look just like your dad.”

“Yeah.” Ray was the spitting image of Ray Sr.

Juice could see the wheels turning in Stiles head. Things were clicking in to place. He wasn’t sure what exactly his husband had deduced, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know either.

“Is there a reason you are looking at me like you’re going to dissect me?” Ray seemed cowed by Stiles intimidating stare.

“That’s his interrogation face.” He knew that one well, though only had it directed his way two or three times since they’d been married.

“So, he plans to interrogate me?”

“Nope.” From the looks of things, Stiles already knew the information he would get out of Ray, without asking him a single thing. “He’s got it all figured out.”

“Oh really?” His brother looked skeptical and a little peeved. “Got _me_ figured out, you mean.”

“Dude,” Stiles chuckled darkly. “I have had you figured out since day one.”

“Behave.” He ordered his husband, much like his mother had done with Ray earlier. He just wanted to keep Stiles and Ray from getting into it. It was easier to reel Stiles in than his brother. He did not realize his mistake, not to order his husband to do anything _ever_ , until it was too late.

“Oh, yes _sir_.” His grin turned feral, a saucy glint in his eyes, and a sultry tone. Goddamn it.

“Wow.” Marisol blushed for him as she took a gulp of her coffee.

“Sorry.” Stiles did not sound the least bit sorry. “My brain to mouth filter is problematic at best.”

“It keeps life interesting.”

* * *

 

He was nervous about tonight, but no one else needed to know that. It wasn’t only that he was leaving his grandson’s with Lydia and Parrish, who had never babysat on their own before. It was also that he was having dinner with Melissa. A nice dinner. It was not a date, or, at least he didn’t think it was a date.

“John,” The woman’s concerned voice called to him from the passenger set. “Are you okay?”

“I’m great.” It wasn’t a lie, not completely anyway.

This would be his first real social dinner with a woman, since Claudia died, that wasn't a school function or charity gala. It just so happened that Melissa had asked him to dinner days after he had stopped wearing his wedding ring. That was only a coincidence, right? Not that a date would be a bad thing, especially with Melissa, it was just…he wasn’t sure what was expected of him.

Claudia had been gone for fifteen years, and while a lot of people could have dated and been well into their second marriages by now, he had never felt the urge. He hadn't even put his wedding ring away intentionally. He had taken it off before jumping in the shower and did not realize he hadn’t put it back on until he had gone to bed. He left the ring safely tucked away in Claudia’s jewelry box, which still sat in its rightful place on his dresser.

He never thought about dating after Claudia had died. His father didn’t see anyone else after his mother had walked out. It almost felt natural to be on his own. He was not lonely, work and Stiles had kept him busy. He never felt really alone until Stiles had left for Oregon, but he would never admit that to his son.

If he told Stiles how empty the house felt, Stiles would do something stupid like pack up his family and move back to Beacon Hills without thinking it through. Or, he would insist that John take an early retirement and move in with he and the kids. It was an increasingly tempting offer, especially with Parrish taking over more responsibility at the station.

Dating again could be a good way to stave off any worry his son might have. Don’t get him wrong, he had no intention of using Melissa just to keep his child’s blood pressure from rising. He genuinely liked her, had spent countless hours with her since the boys were young. The problem was, he knew he couldn’t love anyone the way he loved his wife. He didn’t know if he was capable of giving Melissa what she deserved.

“Stop thinking so much.” She grinned at him. “It’s only dinner.”

“I know.” It was _only_ a few drinks with Gemma that resulted in Stiles. It was _only_ arresting a young woman that brought Claudia into his life.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m worried about the boys.” He lied easily, hoping she wouldn’t see through it.

“Abel and Thomas or Stiles and Juice?” A couple of years ago he wouldn’t have had to make that distinction. It was a subtle reminder that it was not just he and Stiles anymore.

“All of the above.” There was always a thrum of anxiety pulsing in the back of his mind when the kids were out of sight. And, yes, Stiles and Juice still counted as kids. “Grandsons at the forefront right now.”

“Lydia and Parrish are smart.” Book smarts held no bearing on childrearing skills. “I’m sure they can handle it.”

“I can’t help but wonder if this is some kind of experiment.” He had a right to be suspicious. The deputy and the banshee always answered with a ‘hell no’ when asked to watch the boys for a few hours. This time they had volunteered. It was odd behavior.

“Oh, it is definitely an experiment. It’s the two them seeing how well they can parent together.” She explained, shaking her head at the idea. “Lydia’s pregnant.”

“I think someone mentioned that to me.” He was happy for them. They were growing up, starting their own family. “Good for them.”

“Another baby in the pack will be nice.” She mused. “Maybe those two can actually understand Stiles and Juice’s choices a bit better once the baby comes.”

“One would hope.” His fingers flexed against the steering wheel, thinking about the conversation he had with Stiles before he left for Queens. “You’ve noticed it too, huh?”

“It’s hard to miss.” For an adult who had a child, yes it was. The problem was, most of Stiles friends still had the maturity level of teenagers. “I’ve tried talking to Scott about it. He says he understands, but I don’t think he really does.”

“He will eventually.” When the younger pack members finally became full-fledged adults, they would get it. “I’m thankful they can’t understand yet, on some level. It means they haven’t lost all of their innocence. They got to have the normal college experience. I didn’t think that was possible after all they had been through in high school.”

“It’s a blessing to them.” It was more than they could have hoped for. “It’s amazing that things stayed so calm while they were away at college.”

“Which begs the question,” He really hated to be the one to bring it up. “When is it all going to go to hell again?”

“You sound like Stiles.” His kid had to get it from someone. “What makes you think it will?”

“I think it’s already started. I think that crap with Wendy was the first hit.” The darkness had shown up again in his son’s life months before. “Whatever happened between he and Rafael would be another. Then there was Sloan’s reappearance.”

“None of those things are related.” She pointed out.

“It doesn’t matter. When things get stirred up, it comes at us from every possible direction.” It was never strictly supernatural problems that reared their ugly heads. It was family and life. It was endless. “When things go wrong, they go cataclysmically wrong. If that’s going to happen again, I would like to be prepared.”

“What makes you think it is all going to start again for _the pack_?” When was it going to start again in Beacon Hills?

“Aside from the fact that it always does?” He glanced in the rearview mirror. “The black SUV with floodlights and tinted windows that’s been following us the last six blocks is a good indicator.”

“What?” She looked in the side mirror before sighing tiredly. “Well, it’s been a while since I’ve been kidnapped and used as bait.”

“No one is going to kidnap you.” He was not going to let that happen. “Supernatural villains usually drive much flashier vehicles. That is a hunter.”

“Great.”

* * *

 

His mom cornered him in the kitchen sometime after dinner. Ray had gone home around lunch time and Marisol had left for work. Stiles had been roped into playing X-Box games with Felix, who had shown up just before they sat down for their evening meal. Juice had been designated as the dishwasher, since he was on a cleaning kick anyway, and his mother had decided to help him.

“There is a conversation we need to have.” She told him after they had stood in tense silence for several minutes while rinsing pots and pans. “One that I’ve been putting off since you came home. Seeing that family photo…it made me realize that I cannot put it off forever.”

 _Family photo._ Shit. There was only one road this conversation was going to head down and it was not a good one. This was going to be a damn car wreck. He just hoped his husband and brother would stay in the other room so they would not have to witness it.

“I’ve made a lot of mistakes.” She murmured quietly, and he was positive that was only because she was standing next to one of her mistakes. “The biggest one was shutting you out.”

“I always understood why. I didn’t blame you.” She was not at fault for anything that had happened. It was his sin, not hers.

“You saved my life and I punished you for it.” He had not once thought of it that way, and he couldn’t fathom why she did. “I’m sorry, Son.”

“I took away the man you loved. I understand why you hate me –“

“I don’t hate you.” She insisted.

“I don’t regret it.” That was possibly the first time he ever acknowledged that. “I hated myself for it, because it hurt you and the others, but I don’t regret doing it. I knew one day he would get drunk and lose control, and he would kill you. I’m glad I stopped him before he could. I would choose your life over his any day.”

“I did not hate you. I hate what you had to do. I hate that I couldn’t help but let him back in, and you paid the price for that.” Her voice wavered and her hands shook as she passed a soapy skillet over to him. “You were just a boy and you took a life to protect me, when I should have protected you.”

“I’ve taken a lot of lives.” He didn’t say it to put that look of shock on her face. It was the only thing he could think of that could make her truly understand his position on this. “He is one of very few that I do not regret. I loved him too, but I feel very little remorse over what I did to him.”

“The drugs-“

“It killed me to watch all of you grieve and know I was the reason behind it.” He was the reason his mother lost her husband, and why his brothers and sisters had lost their father. “What I did to him wasn’t the problem. It was the aftermath, seeing the damage it caused.”

The damage left behind was always far worse than the fatal blow. Watching those around you mourn the person you killed was like a special kind of torture. Every time he saw one of his siblings cry or watched his mother get that faraway look, it was like a knife to his heart.

“I was useless for so long after his death.” She turned faucets off and retrieved a washcloth from the counter to dry her hands. “I should have been there for you. I should have helped you cope.”

“You just lost the guy you had been with for over thirty years.” Abusive drunk or not, that had to take its toll. “You had to grieve.”

“It doesn’t matter. I am your mother and my children should _always_ come before my own wellbeing.” She said forcefully, grasping his hands in one of hers and running the cloth over them. “I’m sorry, Juan Carlos.”

“Mama…” He wanted to tell her again that he didn’t blame her, but it would only fall on deaf ears. “My greatest fear coming back here was you hating me.”

“When Marisol told me you were coming back, my greatest fear was you hating me.” She smiled sadly at him, depositing the now damp rag back onto the counter.

“I never hated you.” He could not think of one thing she could ever do to make him hate her. “I want to believe that you couldn’t hate me, but there are so many things that I’ve done, that if you knew, you would be disgusted with me.”

“Can you tell me?” He couldn't help but notice the way she didn’t deny the idea of possibility that she could be disgusted with him. “There is so much about your life that I don’t know. It is my fault. I know that. It’s just…you have this wonderful life and I want to be a part of it.”

“It hasn’t always been wonderful.” There were a lot of moments he wished he could erase, and others he would cherish forever. “I don’t know what you want to know.”

“You told Ray that you had a family.” He did not think she was talking about Stiles or the boys.

“It’s one of the reasons I stayed away. The biker club I was a part of,” She tried to hide her disapproval but he caught a glimpse of it. “They took me in. I passed out in front of their garage and they brought me in to their clubhouse and took care of me. They cleaned me up and fed me. They didn’t ask me for anything. The only stipulation was that if I wanted to stay, then I would work. They brought me into their family.”

“What happened?” He sent her a questioning look at the inquiry. “You said before, that you weren’t a part of the club anymore.”

“Bad things happened.” He would not go into specifics, because she wouldn’t understand. “A lot of my family there, they’re dead now.”

“I’m sorry baby.” She reached up to cup his face in her hands.

“My best friend, Chibs, he’s the MC President now. He’s the only member I still have contact with. He looks out for Stiles and I.” Chibs felt responsible for them, and they felt responsible for him in return. “I think we keep him sane.”

“I’m glad you have people looking out for you.”

* * *

 

When he was left alone with Felix after dinner, he was working under the assumption that he was going to be interrogated. He was surprised when instead they sat cross-legged in front of the TV and he was handed an X-Box controller. He was a little rusty, he hadn’t played anything besides kids games in years, but after a while he got back in the swing of things.

“So,” Felix drawled not long after they sat down. “You and my brother.”

“Me and your brother.” He may have jumped the gun in thinking this would not be a Q & A.

“You and my brother.” He said again, looking a little perplexed, but his gaze not straying from the television.

“Is that a problem?” He didn’t think anyone had a problem with it. They had all been pretty gracious about it, aside from Ray’s issue about his age.

“No!” Felix said quickly. “It’s great.”

“I think so.” Some people did, others did not. Everyone had their reasons for accepting them or not. He didn’t give a shit. They loved each other and that was all that freaking mattered. “What’s with the ‘it’s so weird’ expression?”

“It’s going to sound corny as hell.”

“I’m listening.” Corny was much better than douchy.

“When Juan Carlos is with us he seems happy, but it’s forced. It’s like he's only that way because he thinks he has to be.” Stiles wanted to stop him, to assure him that while Juice might not be _really_ happy, he was glad to be there, but Felix railed on before he could cut in. “But, if you’re there with him it’s not so forced. Does that make sense?”

“Um,” He tended to feel freer to show his true emotions when Juice was at his side, so he wouldn’t be surprised if it were the same for his husband. “Yeah, it does.”

“He’s different, in a good way. He’s not lost anymore.” He looked so relieved by that, as if he expected Juice to show up at front door jonesing for a fix, as strung out as he had been the day he left Queens. “Thank you.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

Juice had done all the hard work. He may have needed a helping hand or a push here and there, but he had been the one to clean up and get his life together. He had accepted counseling much more readily than Stiles had. Juice wasn’t afraid to ask for help or tell someone when he felt like slipping. Juice was responsible for his own recovery, for the man he had become. Stiles wouldn’t take the credit for that.

“You love him, right?” The younger Ortiz asked suddenly.

“Since I was eight.” It wasn’t always romantic love, but it was something that had grown and transformed over time.

“Then you did something. You are doing something. So, thanks.” Oh, so Felix was thanking him for loving his brother, that was…sweet. “None of us thought we would ever see him again, let alone see him happy.”

“You should see him at our house.” On their own turf, Juice could relax having the home-field advantage. They would seen an entirely different side of him.

“Marianna and I were thinking of taking a cross-country road trip. Maybe we’ll stop in and see you guys.”

“I’m sure he would really like that.” It would mean a lot to Juice to have his sibling make the effort to travel across the country just to see him.

“I kind of feel like when you guys leave, he’ll be gone again.” Stiles furrowed his brows. “Like before. He left and it was radio silence for fifteen years.”

“That’s not going to happen.” Juice wasn’t going to cut them off once they returned home.

“I don’t want to lose my big brother, you know?”

“Yeah, I do.” He had lost three of them, but only Jax and Opie’s deaths scarred him irreparably. “I’m the youngest of four boys, so yeah, I get it.”

“They’re all…” They’re all dead?

“I’m the last one standing.” Every morning he woke up with that thought in his head he lost another piece of himself.

“How did they die?” Ray questioned before ducking his head in shame. “That was a stupid question to ask. I’m sorry.”

“Thomas died from a heart condition before I was born.” He knew how Felix’s brother Angelo had died, it was only fair that he share his brothers stories too. “Opie was beaten to death when I was seventeen. Jax was in a motorcycle accident when I was eighteen.”

“I’m sorry.” It was the only thing you could really say when you learned someone had a death in the family.

“I’m sorry about your brother.”

They let the conversation end there, neither of them wanting to delve deeper into their grief over lost brothers. Or at least, he thought they had.

“Who the hell names their kid _Opie_?” Felix blurted out before looking startled at his own actions, as if he hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

“It’s a nickname.” He chuckled. “Kind of like _Stiles_ and _Juice_ are nicknames.”

“I am begging you to tell me where the hell that nickname came from.” With that, the game was paused and he had Felix’s full attention. “How did Juan Carlos become Juice?”

“I have no idea.” He had a theory that it had something to do with Chibs not being able to properly pronounce _Juan Carlos_ or _JC_ with his heavy accent while intoxicated. When he proposed said theory to the Scot and Juice, they had agreed so quickly that he knew he was wrong. “My first summer knowing him, he was JC. I came back for winter break and he was going by Juice.”

“You never asked why?”

“I learned at a very young age not to ask too many questions.” It was a rule he generally ignored, but he didn’t think a nickname origin was important enough to inquire about.

“I’ve got to get him really drunk so he’ll tell me.” Stiles was about to tell him Juice didn’t really get drunk anymore, but his cellphone ringing interrupted them.

“Hello?” He flashed Felix and apologetic smile as he answered.

 _“Is this Mieczysław Stilinski?”_ The use of his legal name in a monotone female voice put him on edge instantly.

“Yes, it is. Who is this?” It had to be bad. The use of his first and last name only ever brought bad news.

 _“I’m calling in regards to your father, John Stilinski.”_ His stomach plummeted as she continued. _“He has been admitted to Beacon Hills Memorial following a car accident.”_

“Is he okay?” He asked, climbing to his feet, bypassing Felix, and making his way toward the kitchen. He snapped his fingers through the doorway to grab his husband’s attention.

 _“He is currently in stable condition.”_ Stable was good. It was better than dead.

“Car accident…” His mind fully registered her previous statement. His dad was in a car accident. His dad had his boys. His dad and his boys had been in a car accident. “The kids? How are the kids? Are they okay?”

_“Kids? There were no children admitted with your father.”_

“N-no. He has my boys. He’s watching them while I’m out of town.” There was a hand on his arm, anchoring him, and Juice’s worried eyes suddenly in his field of vision.

_“I can check again. Please hold.”_

“Okay.” He was left the white noise of a busy hospital.

“What is going on?” Juice asked cautiously.

“Y-you need to get us tickets to Beacon Hills. Now.” He told his husband, hoping he would understand the seriousness of the situation. “Whatever flight gets us home quickest.”

“Yeah, okay.” He pulled out his own cell and began punching in numbers but made no move to leave Stiles side.

 _“Mr. Stilinski?”_ The nurse’s voice returned to her end of the line. _“Are you still there?”_

“Yes. I’m still here.” No, he hung up the phone after learning his dad was in a car accident and his children were missing. What kind of person did she take him for?

 _“No children were admitted with your father.”_ She repeated. _“However, I spoke with Melissa McCall, who was admitted alongside your father. She said your sons are with a Lydia Martin.”_

“Oh, thank god.” He breathed a sigh of relief, believing his children were safe with the banshee.

_“She also told me to tell you that it was hunters, and that you would know what that meant.”_

“I do.” Hunters had been behind the car accident that put his dad and Melissa in the hospital. “I’m going to be on the first flight out. I will be there in a couple of hours. Until then, should something happen, Melissa McCall can make medical decisions for my father if he is unable.”

_“I will make a note of that.”_

“Thank you.” He hung up without another word, and before he could even process the information he was given, his phone was blaring to life once more signaling another call. He answered it quickly after glancing at the caller-ID. “Lydia, tell me my boys are safe.”

 _“They are perfect. They are here with me.”_ She assured him, but she sounded alarmed, which did nothing to calm him down in any way. _“I need you to take a breath, Stiles.”_

“I don’t need to take a breath!”

 _“I am getting the urge to scream and it’s directed at you!”_ He was sure she was overreacting as she yelled into the receiver. _“Fucking breathe, your heart –“_

“It’s a goddamn irregular heartbeat, not heart failure, for fucksake.” His heart was not as weak as people seemed to think it was and he had bigger things to worry about than it tripping him up. “Hunters ran my dad and Melissa off the road. Tell me what the hell is going on.”

 _“It was the Calaveras.”_ She told him. _“They went after Liam, your dad and Melissa, and Scott simultaneously.”_

“Is everyone okay?” He dad was stable, Melissa was awake and talking, that just left the others.

 _“Liam is healing, but slowly, very slowly.”_ It was more than likely a reaction from a type of wolfsbane. _“Scott is missing.”_

“Fuck.” Report: His dad and Melissa were hospitalized. Liam was out of commission. Scott was MIA. “Why would the Calaveras attack now? Argent has a deal with them.”

 _“Jordan told Chris that Kate was dead.”_ Stiles smacked a hand against his forehead, because what the actual fuck? _“The baby has been making him thinking a lot about family. He was talking to Chris and realized that he doesn’t really have any, but he had spent five years looking for his dead sister. He thought he could spare Chris some pain by telling him the truth. He believed enough time had passed that the Calaveras wouldn’t care.”_

“I will deal with Jordan when I get home.” The deputy was lucky if Stiles didn’t put two bullets in the back of his skull. “I need you to do me a huge favor, Lydia.”

_“What is it?”_

“I need you to take Abel and Thomas and get on the next flight to Oregon.” Driving was not an option when they could be easily followed. “My dad can’t do it. I need to know they are out of harm’s way.”

 _“Stiles, I can’t leave.”_ Of course, she would feel the need to stay, to help where she could.

“You are pregnant. Think about your baby.” He was probably going to hell for playing on an expectant mothers fears, but a warzone was no place for her or her unborn child. “Lydia, please, I need my boys to be safe. I am trusting you to look after them. Please.”

_“Okay, I’ll do it.”_

“I will call Chibs. He will pick you up at the airport and make sure nothing happens to you.” The Scot would call in the Rogue River and Eureka charters to watch over the house as well. “Text me your flight info when you have it, and I will text him.”

_“I will.”_

“Thank you.” He dropped the call and noticed his husband was no longer on his cellphone. “Well?”

“Soonest flight I could get us on is in two hours.” That didn’t leave them a lot of time to gather their things and get to the airport.

“Fine. You call Chibs. Tell him that Lydia’s coming and all that.” Someone had to give the SAMCRO pres a heads up about what was going on. “Tell him he has to stay in Oregon to look after our boys. I’m calling Tig.”

“Why are you calling him?”

“Reinforcements.” He growled out as he pressed the phone back up to his ear. Reinforcements meant Juice would have to lay low and stay out of sight in Beacon Hills, but it was a risk he would have to take.

_“Twice in one day, kid.”_

“I need your help, Tiggy.” He didn’t not have the time for pleasantries.

 _“What’s going on?”_ There was a new alertness in the older man’s voice that told him he was prepared for battle.

“The Calaveras attacked the pack. They ran my dad and Melissa off the road. They hurt Liam. They might have Scott.” Now that he was the one saying it, and not Lydia, he felt the overwhelming sense of panic. “You remember the Calaveras?”

 _“Hunters related to the MC. We bought bullets from them once.”_ Jax had pissed Araya off with that one-time bullet buy. _“Tell me what you need me to do.”_

“I know this is a pack problem and not SAMCROs.” He had no right to ask, and was breaking every rule he set in place that kept Charming in Charming and Beacon Hills in Beacon Hills. “I’m here and my dad is there. He’s vulnerable at the hospital. He’s unprotected.”

 _“The club can be up there in an hour and a half.”_ Tig caught on to what he was trying to say. _“We’ll play guard dogs until you get here, and then we will help where we can.”_

“Thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next: Stiles makes a few decisions the True Alpha may not agree with to protect the pack. Juice puts himself at risk of exposure to save a life.  
> [TUMBLR](http://www.stilinski-ortiz.tumblr.com/)  
> [Youtube](https://www.youtube.com/user/SandM1827/)  
> Thank you for all the comments and kudos, they are greatly appreciated.  
> Keep in mind the title of this fic is Crossed Lines and the next chapter is getting back to that concept.


	9. So Look At Me Now I'm Just Makin' My Play

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd.  
> Warnings: Mentions of torture.  
> Chapter title comes from Back in Black by AC/DC.  
> Gif sets: [What Needs to Be Done](http://stilinski-ortiz.tumblr.com/post/123547061333/son-shine-what-needs-to-be-done-crossed-lines), [I Had A Brother Once](http://stilinski-ortiz.tumblr.com/post/123976358562/son-shine-verse-i-had-a-brother-once-i-watched).

Derek and Braeden were waiting for them in the parking garage when they exited the airport. They climbed into the SUV with little fanfare, shoving their luggage onto the floorboard by their feet. They barely had their seatbelts on before Stiles began making inquiries.

“What’s the status?”

“Liam is conscious, but not fully healed. He cannot be moved. He’s at Deaton’s.” Derek relayed the information. “Melissa has a concussion and some bruised ribs, but is relatively okay. Your dad took the brunt of it. The impact from the other vehicle was on his side of the car. He hasn’t woken up yet. They moved him from the ICU and into a normal room this morning.”

“And Scott?” He forced himself to put his father’s wellbeing in the back of his mind, just for now. “Any news on him?”

“The Calaveras have him somewhere in the preserve.” The mercenary handed him a torn piece of a bloody shirt that belonged to the alpha. “We got close to them once, but they started shooting before we could grab Scott. We had to retreat to regroup. We couldn’t risk being injured like Liam was.”

“Yeah.” It wouldn’t do any good to have all the shifters out of commission while their alpha was missing. “Did the club arrive?”

“Last night.” The wolf confirmed. “They’ve been in contact, but stayed at the hospital, acting as security for your dad and Melissa. They’re in plain clothes, no kuttes, to appear less suspicious.”

“Good.”

“Chibs texted. Lydia and the boys made it Oregon late yesterday afternoon.” Juice piped up, glancing down at his phone. “He will keep them safe.”

“We’ll drop you two off at the hospital –“

“No.” Stiles shot down that idea immediately. “The loft. We need everyone there so we can go over a plan of attack.”

“Your dad…” Juice reminded him gently.

“If I see my dad now, I won’t be able to leave him.” He would not be very helpful if he sat paralyzed in fear at his dad’s bedside. “We will get Scott back, make sure the Calaveras are taken care of, and then I will go see him.”

“What exactly do you mean by _make sure the Calaveras are taken care of_?” Derek questioned and Stiles leveled him with a look that told him to fucking drop it. “Right.”

“Once we get there, I’m going to break everyone off into groups. Juice, I want you with Braeden.” He gave them their orders now, because Juice could not be addressed at the meeting while SAMCRO was present. “Then Derek and me.”

He chose to keep Derek with him, because they had a certain kind of symmetry that came with being in battle together before. They would need the balance tonight. Braeden and Juice, well, one was a former outlaw and the other was a former mercenary. They would complement each other nicely in the field, or so he hoped.

“Braeden, I am going to need access to your weapons stash.” His guns were back in Oregon, and he didn’t want to waste time getting into his dads gun safe at home.

“It’s all at the loft.”

“Okay.” He turned his gaze to his husband. “Keep yourself out of sight at the loft, yeah?”

“I know.”

“No unnecessary risks.” That was something he would be sure to repeat when he had everyone in one place. Both the pack and SAMCRO could always use the reminder.

* * *

 

Juice pushed himself into the darkest corner, behind the spiral staircase, once they arrived at the loft. The light from the setting sun shining through the windows presented a bit of a problem, but he had it on good authority that he was more or less well hidden. It helped that several pack members had strategically placed themselves in front of that general area by the time SAMCRO had shown up.

Stiles didn’t take the time to greet anyone. The moment the loft door slid closed, signaling the last of them had arrived, he had gotten right down to business. He stood in front of everyone, his arms crossed over his chest, exuding power.

With Scott missing in action, taken by the enemy, it fell to another pack member to make the tough choices. On the plane ride over, they had mulled over that person being Derek, given his former alpha status. Or Lydia, leading from a distance, because she was a genius. Instead, despite what they may have decided, it was Stiles who took charge.

He had stepped in to his role as Second in Command as if he had never left it. The McCall pack and the Sons of Anarchy all fell in line so naturally. It was fucking beautiful.

“We are going to break off into teams to search different sections of the preserve.” Stiles rolled the map of the forest out onto the desk as he spoke. “I want a mix of shifters and humans.”

“You have the teams in mind?” Tig questioned, eyes flickering toward the supernatural creatures.

“You, me, and Braeden.” Derek kept up the pretense that they would be sticking together, for SAMCRO’s sake.

“I concur.” Stiles agreed. “Tig, you are with Malia.”

“I concur.” The coyote echoed. Ten to one, he would be regretting that pairing sooner or later.

“Kira, are you okay taking two?” The kitsune nodded. “Rat and Happy, you’re with her.”

“Okay.” The pair said in unison.

“Who is at Deaton’s with Liam?”

“My parents and Mason.” Kira told him. “They’re setting up all the emergency supplies in case one of us gets hurt.”

“That’s a good idea.” There was a good chance there would be injuries amongst them before the night was over.

“TO is at the hospital looking after your dad and Scott’s mom.” Tig said, and Juice swore he could see Stiles relax knowing his dad had the extra protection. “We had to leave Quinn and Montez in Charming to keep an eye on things there.”

“What about me?” Parrish asked hesitantly, and rightfully so. Stiles had pointedly ignored the deputy since they had come in.

“What about you?” It was the first time Stiles had acknowledged his presence at all.

“What team am I on?” That was a bad question with piss poor timing. Parrish was fucked.

Stiles relinquished his hold on the map and stood up straight. He squared his shoulders, stood up a little taller, and set his jaw. He took a few calculated steps forward, toward the deputy who had set himself away from the others. Stiles radiated authority, looking remarkably like Jax as he confronted the deputy.

“What team are you on?” He repeated the line back at him. “The hunters, last I checked.”

“That’s not fair.” Parrish argued with little conviction.

“You knew what would happen if the Calaveras got wind of what happened to Kate, and you opened your mouth anyway.” The only thing that had kept the Calaveras from ascending on Beacon Hills was the fact that they had been looking for Kate. Now, Parrish had blabbed and mucked everything up. “You put the pack in danger. My dad and Melissa are in the hospital. Liam is not healing properly. Scott is missing. That is on your head.”

“You are the one who killed Kate.” There was a shift in the atmosphere, tension leaking out of everyone. Juice could hear Malia growl mutely in his husbands defense. “All I did was tell Chris the truth. He deserved to know. This is not my fault.”

“You put the pack in danger.” Stiles reiterated rather than explaining his reasoning for killing Kate. Everyone in the room knew it was justified. Parrish brought it up to alleviate some of his own guilt, to place the blame on someone else. “You put Lydia and your unborn child at risk. You didn’t even try to get them out of town safely. I did that.”

“I would never have let Lydia or our baby get hurt.” He looked offended by the very accusation. “Just tell me where I am supposed to be tonight.”

“Home.”

“I need to do something.”

“You have done more than enough already.” Stiles voice took on that deathly calm down that had Juice shrinking further into the corner and the other shifters baring their necks, something they didn’t even do for their actual alpha. “But, if you are incapable of sitting on your hands, you can help TO at the hospital. Two sets of eyes are better than one.”

“Keep watch? Seriously?” Parrish was an adult, a little younger than Juice himself. Usually, he was nice, sweet, and naively innocent like Scott. Unfortunately, he had moments of defiance.

“You're right. Making sure my dad and Melissa aren’t attacked _again_ is probably too much to ask.” Stiles noted condescendingly. “Go home, Parrish.”

“I’ll go to the hospital.” The deputy was out the door without another word.

There was the barest hint of a smile playing on Stiles lips as the door slid shut. Juice knew it was because Stiles had gotten exactly what he wanted. He removed the one he deemed untrustworthy from the fight.

“Okay, let’s see where everyone is going to be.” Stiles leaned back over the map with a rule and a marker.

He systematically cordoned off a number of different sections for each group. The preserve was huge, and there was no way they could comb over the entire area in one day.

“No one here is an amateur. If you want to split up once you are in your sector, to cover more ground, you are free to do so, but make sure you stay close enough that someone can get to you if you are in trouble.” Stiles wouldn’t be making that suggestion at all if what was out there was more than human. “Humans are the only thing we will probably find out there tonight. However, those of us carrying guns need to have wolfsbane bullets in case of rogue creature decides to join our little party.”

“Watch where you shoot those.” Malia warned.

“What are we doing with the Calaveras?” Derek posed his earlier question once again. “They are not going to hand Scott over to us. What are we going to do?”

“What needs to be done.”

“What does that mean?”

“That depends on a few things.” He cast a gaze to the former alpha. “Can you get me a meeting with Argent?”

“I can try. I have a number for him. I don’t know if he’ll go for it.” Derek looked confused as to what the purpose of the meeting might be. “Why?”

“I want to talk to him.” He was kind enough to leave the _duh_ unsaid. “I would like to know if he is going to be out there with his rifle or crossbow. For the Calaveras, this is business. For Chris, it is personal, that makes him the bigger threat.”

“Maybe I should talk to him.” Derek suggested.

“I want to talk to him. If my way doesn’t work then you can try.” Stiles countered. “You can be there when I talk to him.”

“Does what Argent says decide what we do with the Calaveras?”

“I don’t think Argent holds that much pull over them.” Braeden pointed out. “Araya is the shot caller.”

“I need to make a phone call before I can definitively say what we are doing about them.”

* * *

 

He stepped outside the loft building, stopping by the SUV to sort through his bag before he headed across the street. It was the best he could do to ensure he was out of supernatural hearing range. He shuffled through the paper work in the folder he had taken from his duffle, searching for one that had any sort of contact number available. He input the numbers and pressed the call button on his phone before he could change his mind.

_“Section Chief Shaw’s office.”_

“This is Mieczysław Stilinski,” He introduced himself awkwardly. “I am calling in regards to the offer Section Chief Shaw gave me.”

_“Give me one moment. I will see if he is in his office.”_

“Okay.” A moment was long enough for him to doubt himself, but he stayed on the line anyway.

_“Transferring you now.”_

“Thank you.”

 _“Section Chief Shaw.”_ A gruff voice took place of the previous placid one.

“It’s Mieczysław Stilinski.”

_“Stilinski? Stilinski… Oh. The one who beat up an informant.”_

“Uh, yeah.” He had a reputation. That was _fabulous_. “Director McGarrett said you may have a job for me.”

 _“I do. McGarrett gave me the impression that you wouldn’t be accepting the offer.”_ He had been under a similar impression himself while he was in McGarrett’s office. _“Have you changed your mind or is this a formal rejection?”_

“I have concerns and would like a chance to negotiate the offer.” Though he didn’t have time to go over the specifics just yet. “Right now, I would like to give you something. I was given a show of good faith concerning my husband, now I would like to do the same.”

_“I’m listening.”_

“What do you know about Araya Calaveras?” It would be his luck that it was absolutely nothing. “She’s based out of Mexico, near La Iglesia. She spent time in Lodi. Her husband started the Calaveras MC. She and her crew use bullets that have skulls etched into them.”

_“The bullets sound familiar, but I would have to check my files to know anything more. Why are you looking into them?”_

“They have invaded my hometown.” He couldn’t give too many details without knowing if anything would come of them. “Can you run a check to see if she or anyone connected to the Calaveras have any outstanding warrants? I know they are good, they have to be to have been in the business this long, but they left their prints on a crime scene somewhere. I’m sure of it. Even the smartest criminals get sloppy.”

_“If I find something what will you do?”_

“I am going to hand them over to you on a silver platter. Then, I am going to let you take all the credit. The catch is, none of it can be traced back to Beacon Hills, and I cannot really tell you why.”

_“I’m going to need some assurances from you.”_

“I’m listening…”

* * *

 

He didn’t understand why they were keeping him alive. Araya had made it clear that if he ever killed or turned anyone that she would put him down. He had turned Liam accidently, and then Juice intentionally. To the best of his knowledge, they weren’t aware of the latter.

“Why are you doing this?” He mumbled tiredly, voice hoarse from all the screaming he had done earlier. “You and Argent had a deal.”

“The deal was, he helps us find Kate, and we leave you alone.” She turned the dial up a little higher, causing his body to spasm as the electricity coursed through him. “A little birdy in your pack told us that she has been dead for some time now. The Stilinski boy killed her.”

“She kidnapped –“

“What happened to Kate doesn’t concern me. She was one of you.” ‘One of you,’ a shifter she meant, disgust laced in every word. “With her dead, our original deal with Christopher is void.”

“Original deal…” Which meant there was another one in place.

“I told him that we would hold off on killing you until we found your friend.” He furrowed his brows in confusion, not seeing what she had to gain from that. “Your pack will be out looking for their missing alpha. My men will find them. They will all die. I’ve heard a _True Alpha_ can feel their pack dying, as if it were their own death. Once Christopher kills your brother, I will kill you.”

* * *

 

She had been pacing the length of the living room for a solid two hours and thirteen minutes. He counted, mainly because there wasn’t much else to do. The boys had gone up to their bedrooms to play with their toys after a tense dinner. With nothing to distract them, the only thing they could do was wait.

“Red, if you don’t quit wearing a hole into the damn carpet, I swear to god…” All her pacing was only increasing his agitation.

“What would you like me to do?” She stalled, placing her hands on her hips and glaring menacingly at him.

“Sit the fuck down. Your back and forth crap ain’t doing anyone any good.” Chibs kept his voice low, mindful of the kids upstairs. “Explain to me why your old man thought it was a great idea to smack his jaws about Argent. While you’re at it, tell me why you waited until after John’s accident to tell anyone about it.”

“I didn’t know Jordan said anything until the accident. Once he ran the other cars plates, found out who they belonged to, he told me everything.” She sighed, dropping down on to the couch.

“Why did he tell Argent to begin with?”

“He’s an orphan, okay? He has no family. Having a child has made him think about that more and more.” He gestured for her to get on with it. He didn’t need the deputies backstory. “Argent doesn’t have a family anymore. They are all dead. Parrish understands that. He thought it was cruel to let Chris believe his sister still alive when she was gone.”

“Wasn’t Argent looking for his sister so he could help take her out?” It wasn’t as if the hunter was looking for her so they could have some heartfelt reunion.

“It’s still his sister.”

“Maybe your boy should have figured out which team Argent was playing for, before he opened his trap.”

“We don’t know if Argent has switched sides.”

“We will by the end of the night.”

* * *

 

“We should separate here.” Kira suggested as they reached the old well. “You two stay together. We can meet back here when we’ve finished this sector.”

“Do you have a cellphone number, in case one of us gets into trouble?” Rat pulled out his prepay, prepared to save the digits.

“Just yell. I’ll hear you.” Her hearing might not be as good as the wolves, but it was better than the average human.

“I actually meant if _you_ got into trouble.”

She didn’t get offended. She was used to people underestimating her because of her size. The two bikers saw her as a damsel in distress. They were under the false assumption that Stiles assigned her two of them, instead of one like he had done with Malia, because she needed the extra protection. To them, it had nothing to do with the fact that they were lacking available bodies.

Rather than being irritated by the comment, she reached for belt, whipping it off in a practiced move until it transformed into her sword. She let the power settle over her, let it shine outward in bright orange foxfire. She had learned how to hide that aura a long time ago, but thought the men could use a visual to see that she was not some little girl.

The shocked silence from them was palpable. While they had seen her in battle before, with the berserkers, they had never seen her do that. They had no idea her power had nearly doubled since the last time they fought together.

“I think I’ll be okay.”

* * *

 

“It got dark pretty quick.” Tig noted as he followed the young woman through the woods.

“Yep.”

“Getting anything on that super-sniffer of yours?” He asked as she lifted her head to scent the air.

“The same thing I’ve been getting.” She grunted, seeming more annoyed the longer they were out there. “It’s Scott, but it’s not recent. His scent is so ingrained here that it’s hard to tell the difference.”

“So, you’re a werewolf.” He stated conversationally after a beat of silence, as if they were taking a walk, not searching for someone.

“Coyote.” She corrected.

“Huh. That’s-“

“Shut up.”

“What?”

“Shut up and get down before you get us shot.” She grabbed his arm and pushed him behind a thick tree, just as the lights from an SUV broke through the darkness.

“Son of a bitch.” He checked the clip on his gun, just in case things got hairy.

“Stiles wants them back alive.” She reminded him, not sounding too pleased with the order. “Well, _most_ of them back alive.”

“I can work with most.”

* * *

 

They dropped Juice and Braeden off in their sector, before leaving the van hidden and making the trek through the woods. They were meeting Chris near the cliffs. It was the hunter’s idea. The area was more or less open, leaving little place to hide. It was good and bad. It meant they could not have anyone stashed in the bushes as back up, but neither could he.

“What are you going to do to Chris if he really is with the Calaveras?” Derek questioned after they had been walking awhile.

“The same thing I am going to do with the Calaveras.” If Chris wanted to be a real hunter again then Stiles would treat him like one.

“Which is what?” Yeah, he may have kept that little piece of information to himself. He had his reasons, though. “You told us to keep as many of them alive as possible. You didn’t tell us what you were going to do with them.”

“What do you think I am going to do with them?” Derek had to have some idea floating around in his head if he was so damned concerned about it.

“I don’t know. That is why I’m asking.” The wolf shook his head. “We all know what you are capable of, Stiles. We just never know what you are going to do.”

“You were all ‘ _kill pussycat, kill, kill’_ with your _‘let’s make our own dead pool’_ and Scott just followed along like a good little boy. Your girlfriend was a _mercenary_. She killed people for a living.” He was hardly the most dysfunctional member of the pack. “I kill someone _in self defense_ , and I am labeled a trigger happy nutjob who can’t be trusted.”

“We trust you.” Stiles didn’t fail to notice how the beta didn’t deny the ‘trigger happy nutjob’ part. “We just wish you would tell us what is going on.”

“And I wish you all would have told me about Kate before she kidnapped my nephew.” He threw back. Yeah, they weren’t entirely innocent. “I wish someone would have told me my husband was alive, instead of letting me believe he was dead for four days.”

“So, what, this is some kind of payback for what we did five years ago?”

“No, Derek, this is me giving all of you plausible deniability. The less people that know what is going on the better.” The less witnesses, the easier it was to clean up. “Unless, of course, you want more hunters to infiltrate Charming. If life has become too boring, and you are looking for another war, then by all means, spill some Calaveras blood.”

“Beacon Hills.”

“What?”

“More hunters would infiltrate _Beacon Hills_ , not Charming.” Derek commented. “You are in Beacon Hills.”

“I know that.” It was hard to forget given their current location.

“Do you?” The question pissed him off, simply because he knew why it was asked.

The pack saw his _Survival Mode_ and believed it was a direct result of growing up in a world where outlaws went to war. They saw his ability to kill with little to no hesitation as a trait he must have picked up from the club. They were wrong, though.

He had been put in more situations where he needed to survive with the pack than he had ever been with SAMCRO. He had taken his first life while possessed by the nogitsune. In fact, he had killed more within the Beacon Hills city limits, as a result of the supernatural world, than he ever had for the club. There were dozens while he was possessed, and then there was Kate, all pack related. There was only one life he had taken in the name of the club.

“If I was in Charming, I would be having a few beers with the club.” He would be shooting the shit with Venus, or playing a few rounds of pool with the guys. “I wouldn’t be traipsing around the woods with you. I sure as hell wouldn’t be seeing Chris Argent aiming a crossbow at your back.”

“What?” Derek nearly gave him whiplash with how quickly he turned around.

Chris was standing on a ridge not far from where they were. Even from a distance, he looked tired and old. The years hadn’t been kind to him. Losing your family did that to you.

He stalked toward them with an obvious purpose. He did not lower his weapon an inch, he kept it trained on the wolf. It was clear he saw Derek as the bigger threat. That was his mistake, but no one was going to call him on it.

“Mr. Argent, thanks for meeting us.” Stiles may not be pleased with the circumstances, but he was not going to exasperate the problem by being an asshole. He would use calm and even tones. He would use the man’s formal name to make him believe he held the position of power.

“What do you want?” The hunter addressed Derek rather than him. It was an interesting tactic, if Stiles did say so himself.

“To talk.” He answered, while Derek remained silent. “We want to work this out without any bloodshed.”

“It’s a little late for that.” Apparently, he was not going to make this easy. “Parrish said you were the one who put Kate down.”

“Yes. I did.” He held no regret for that. He did what he had to do. “She sunk her claws into a little boys neck and then into mine. She would have killed me if I hadn’t killed her.”

“You should have told me.” His fingers tightened around his weapon. “Scott should have told me.”

“We were trying to avoid a situation like this.” They did not want another war. “Given your reaction, keeping you misinformed was the right thing to do.”

“I didn’t tell the Calaveras that Kate was dead. They had my phone tapped. They don’t trust me.” They bugged his phone to ensure he was not keeping secrets from them. Paranoid bastards. “I didn’t know about that until they confronted me after the call from Parrish.“

“And you came with them because they forced you?” Argent was alone, with a crossbow pointed at Derek, so Stiles wasn’t inclined to believe he was there by any means but his own. “Or maybe you want revenge for what I did to Kate.”

“Kate was – “

“Your sister. You grew up together. You loved her.” Chris’s grip on his bow faltered at Stiles words. “She was also a killer. She took innocent lives. She became the very thing you were taught to hate.”

The older man’s gave hardened the longer Stiles went on. Derek sent him a look that told him to shut the hell up before he got them both killed, but he ignored it. He knew what he was doing. He was getting through to Chris, making his way past the barrier that screamed hunter and finding the man.

“I had an older brother. I was closer to him than almost anyone.” He watched the flicker of surprise cross Argent’s features. “He brutalized a lot of people because he wanted revenge.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“You hate Kate for what she did, but you still love her. You don’t get to turn that off.” No matter how much he wanted to. “You know every bad thing Kate did. The same way I know every horrible thing my brother did. It doesn’t make that love go away.”

 _“Why are you telling me this?”_ The hunter repeated with less patience.

“’Cause I had a brother once. I watched him turn into a monster.” The same way Chris had watched Kate turn into one. “Now, everyone is waiting for me to become one too.”

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Derek flinch. Yeah, he was well aware of how the pack, and even SAMCRO, looked at him sometimes. They were waiting for him to snap and warp into Jax. The pack hadn’t known Jax, but they heard about the trail of blood he left behind in his wake. They all assumed Stiles would leave behind the same legacy.

“I don’t have any intention of becoming my brother. I don’t believe you have the inclination to turn into Kate.” It didn’t matter that the others would look at them and see the evil things their siblings had done. They weren’t them. Not unless they chose to be. “The Calaveras want you to be like Gerard and Kate, but you didn’t go with them so you could turn into that. You did it to protect Scott, because he couldn’t protect himself against them.”

 _‘We hunt those who hunt us,’_ was the hunter mantra. _‘We protect those who cannot protect themselves,’_ had been Allison’s. While he did not want to use her to get Chris on his side, he knew it was the one thing that would resonate.

“If you want payback for Kate, then you take it from me. I am the one who killed her.” He was not going to let anyone else pay for his sin. “The pack had nothing to do with that. They have not broken the code. They do not deserve to die.”

“I can’t stop the Calaveras.” Chris shook his head. “There is too many of them. They don’t listen to me. But, I might be able to get you to where Scott is being held.”

“He’s alive?” Derek spoke tentatively.

“She wants him to feel his pack die before she kills him.” Araya wanted Scott to be in pain. They made her chase her tail for five years. Mercy wasn’t something she would grant them. “You were supposed to be last, Stiles, before Scott.”

“Why me?” He assumed that honor would go to Kira, to make Scott feel the woman he loved die once again.

“You are human. Your connection to the pack is different. With the others, he would physically feel their deaths.” That sounded like the worst kind of torture. “Araya wants him to watch you die. She tasked me to bring you in and kill you in front of him.”

“Oh boy, that sounds like fun.” He drawled sarcastically, earning a glare from the other men.

“This isn’t a game, Stiles.” The wolf snapped.

“Listen, Mr. Argent, if you can get us to Scott, then the Calaveras will be handled with minimal bloodshed.” He couldn’t guarantee there would be no injuries or death, but he told everyone to avoid hurting them too badly. “Do you need anything else to get us to him?”

“Just you, Stiles.” Argent looked toward the former alpha. “You can’t come.”

“Then he’s not going with you.” Derek replied automatically.

“Yes, I am.” Stiles began removing his weapons, knowing he wouldn’t be able to keep them when he reached where Scott was. “Derek, go find Braeden and Juice. Help them.”

“I am not letting you do this.” It was all kinds of adorable that Derek thought he had the ability to stop him.

“You don’t have a choice.” He shoved his gun at the wolf. “Braeden knows what to do with the Calaveras. We will all meet up at Deaton’s or the hospital later, depending on how bad things get.”

“Or the morgue.” Derek retorted. “Wait, Braeden knows your plan?”

“She is a US Marshall.” Okay, she was a _former_ US Marshall. “I’m basically a fed. Those two thing are going to come in handy today.”

“How?”

“When she tells you and the others to get the fuck out of dodge, then you better do as your told.” That was probably wishful thinking. No one in the pack took orders well. “Anything in the general vicinity that sprouts claws or has glowing eyes will be taken by the government and dissected.”

“What the hell did you do?” Oh, there was the accusing tone he had grown accustomed to.

“I found a way to get rid of the Calaveras without having more hunters converge on Beacon Hills.” He found a legal way that did not involve the pack breaking the hunter’s precious code. “While my plan doesn’t involve letting the enemy walk back out of town with a slap on the wrists, it doesn’t involve dead bodies either. I am abiding by the True Alpha’s no-kill policy. Mostly.”

“If we are going to do this,” Argent interjected. “Sooner would be better.”

“Where are they holding Scott?” Derek asked.

“The tunnels by your old house.” Stiles deduce before Chris could answer, a light bulb going off in his mind. “I mean, where your house used to be. Where Kate held you when Peter was the alpha.”

“How do you know that?” The hunter inquired disbelievingly.

“It is the only place to hide in this goddamn preserve!” The only place with enough space for the Calaveras to do what they wanted.

“Why the hell didn’t you say anything before we sent everyone out on a wild goose chase?” The wolf yelled at him.

“I didn’t think of it until now!” It was Derek’s damn house. If anyone should have thought of it, it should have been him. “I’m under a lot of pressure, okay? I’ve had a lot going on. I had feds, informants, in-laws, childhood trauma, feds again, and now this. Give me a break! I’m not at the top of my game!”

“Well, you need to be. Araya is not going to just let us walk in and take Scott.” Chris told him, as if he hadn’t already known that. “I can’t promise you will walk away unharmed.”

“I’m not exactly going in unharmed.” He held up his cast-covered hand. “I can handle it.”

“She may have me do things to prove I’m on their side.” The hunter admitted, having the good grace to cringe at the very idea of hurting him.

“It’s not like I’ve never been tortured by an Argent before.” It was the older man’s turn to flinch at the reminder of what Gerard had done all those years ago while both Chris and Allison had watched.

“What?” Derek took a conscious step forward, not so subtly taking Stiles out of Argents line of fire.

“Derek, go find Braeden and Juice.” He ordered again.

“I’m not leaving you alone with the Calaveras –“

“You can’t come with us.” Chris’s words only made the wolf tense further. “Mountain ash is surrounding the property, plus dozens of hunters on guard. They are patrolling the woods as well. If they see you they will kill you.”

“If Scott and I aren’t back by sunrise, then you can call in the cavalry.” There were humans available to break the mountain ash line and get them inside. “I am not sending everyone in now, just to paint the forest red. Give my plan a chance to work. _Incapacitate_ the Calaveras you find. Take them to the designated spot. Then get the hell out of the preserve.”

“No.”

“Fine. Come with us. Get killed.” If they showed up with Derek on their tail, then the jig was up, and they would all be killed.

“Damn it, Stiles.” Derek deflated. “If I don’t hear from you or Scott by dawn-“

“Then ride in on your wolfy paws to the rescue.”

* * *

 

Juice prided himself on being a good soldier. When he was with SAMCRO, he had done everything he was told without question. He never developed the leadership qualities that came so easily to Jax and Chibs, even to Stiles. He was comfortable with his position as a follower, as a soldier.

There was something different about it this time, though. It had been so long since he had been put in the situation to be hunted. That instinct to follow, to please, to do something simply because he was told to, was gone now. His shrink and his husband had stripped him of it. He had fought tooth and nail against losing it. It was such a part of who he was, but they were convinced it would help him become his own person. Eventually, he had grudgingly accepted that perhaps they were right.

That part of him being gone was becoming increasingly problematic tonight. He was supposed to be sticking close to Braeden, searching their sector. They were supposed to knock out and restrain any hunters they came across. It was all pretty straightforward. The only issue that should arise would be the hunters fighting back.

“Juice.” Braeden bristled in annoyance as he moved away from her for the umpteenth time that night.

He couldn’t do much but flash her an apologetic smile. He had continuously veered off the path since they had been left in the preserve. It was not his fault. It was his wolf. It kept catching a scent, but it wasn’t the one he was looking for. It was the one that followed Chibs to Oregon. The one he smelt in the loft earlier. It was Charming. It was SAMCRO, and he felt an undeniable pull to them. He knew, his wolf knew, that he needed to be with them, to fight at their side like he had done so many times before.

“You can’t.” She said sympathetically, seeing the longing written on his face.

“I know.” It was too dangerous. He may be ‘alive’ again, thanks to the feds, but the club had to believe he was still six feet under.

Unfortunately, the universe didn’t give a shit what anyone needed to believe.

A series of gunshots cut through the air, followed quickly by shouts and grunts. He recognized Kira’s voice in the mix, but also the others.

“Happy.” His feet were moving the _fuck_ even left Braeden’s mouth.

They broke off into a run toward the noises. His supernatural side allowed him to close the distance long before the mercenary did. When he came across the clearing, he saw five hunters bearing down on the team.

Kira had two in front of her. She was using her sword to deflect their bullets, striking the barrels of their guns to direct their fire elsewhere. Rat was rolling around with one on the ground, doing a little hand-to-hand combat. Happy was pinned down, one on top of him, and another aiming a gun at his head, prepared to pull the trigger when he had a clear shot.

His canines elongated in his mouth and he felt his claws extend from his fingertips. His face shifted as he felt the anger rise inside of him. He let out a loud roar, startling the men, before charging at the one holding the gun on Happy, tackling him to the forest floor.

“Minimal damage!” Kira shouted at him as he bared his teeth in the hunters face.

 _Minimal damage._ He could do that. The hunter had zero time to react before Juice grabbed him around the neck, pulled him up slightly, then slammed him roughly back to the ground, knocking him unconscious.

As he climbed back to his feet he noticed Happy and Kira had used the distraction to their advantage, gaining the upper hand on their opponents. Braeden had caught up, immediately taking on one of the hunters that had focused on the kitsune. Rat was still struggling, he couldn’t seem to get out from under his attacker.

He waited for an opening, for the man to be entirely on top of the Son, raising his fist to punch the younger man, before sending a hard kick to the hunter’s ribs. The force was enough to roll the hunter several feet away from Rat. God bless supernatural strength.

“You have a code, right?” He marched toward the man who was clutching his side. ”Isn’t killing humans against that code? Or is that only a rule you expect shifters to follow?”

“You’re not human.” The hunter spit at him, reaching for his gun that had been tossed to the side at some point during his scuffle with Rat. “You’re a dog.”

“He is human.” He nodded toward the Son, as he stepped on the hunter’s hand, crunching the bone beneath his foot, then retrieving the weapon for himself.

If the hunters truly did have a code of ethics or morals that they lived by, then killing humans would go against it. Shifters were the primary target and only if they hunted humans. Scott’s pack did not do that. While part of the code also dictated that a wolf could not turn a human, he didn’t think Scott had bitten he or Liam with the intent of building a pack to start a war on the human race, like the hunter’s obviously believed they would.

“Why don’t you leave the fight to the ones you really want?” He suggested hotly.

He allowed the hunter to get to his feet. The guy was still suffering the effects of the previous blow, but stood in a fighting stance nonetheless. Juice had no intention of getting into a brawl with him. They had no time for such a spectacle. He let the man take a swing at him before slamming the butt of the gun into the man’s head, knocking him out cold.

Once the body had dropped to the ground, he turned to see how the others were fairing. They all seemed to have gotten aboard the _less dramatics more knock the bitch out_ train. The five hunters were left unconscious on the forest floor, which was great, except now all the attention was on him.

It was only natural for his eyes to drift to his former brothers. Rat was looking at him as if he was seeing a ghost. Seeing as he had been dead to them the last few years, that wasn’t exactly unwarranted. Happy was another story. A dark expression had settled on the older man’s face as Juice shifted his own back to their human form.

Kira and Braeden both took careful steps closer to him. The meaning was clear, they were prepared to protect him if they Sons decided to attack, though the men did not seem poised to do so. He opened his mouth to speak, to say something to keep this from becoming any more complicated than it already was, when a movement caught his eye.

Behind the SAMCRO members, off in the distance, he could see the vague outline of someone moving slowly toward them. The silhouette of a rifle was enough to tell Juice that it was not a friendly coming their way. Everyone on their side was in teams and would not be walking alone. If that wasn’t enough of an indicator that it was an enemy, then the muzzle flash was.

“Get down!”

Braeden dropped down behind a fallen tree, while Kira yanked Rat down with her. Instead of heeding Juice’s warning, Happy turned toward the gunfire, his own weapon drawn. Juice barely had enough time to push the Son to the ground before they were under a hail of gunfire coming from all sides. The guy Juice had spotted originally, had ended up being one of at least half a dozen.

There were so many bullets flying that he couldn’t do much but shield Happy from them as they crawled over to where Braeden was hunkered down. Kira made the same move with Rat, both them moved into protective positions, bracketing the humans to prevent them from being targets. The tree didn’t offer much cover, but it was more than they had before.

“I think we should call for backup now.” The kitsune suggested.

“There is no way Malia and Derek haven’t heard this racket.” The gunfire wasn’t exactly quiet.

“So, we’re just going to wait here and hope the rest of your pack shows up?” Rat asked incredulously. “Can’t you howl or something? Let them know we’re in trouble.”

“I don’t know how to howl.” He was a werewolf not an actual wolf for fucksake. “We can call _on a cellphone_ and hope one of them answers.”

“I thought you guys healed.” Happy said suddenly, looking worriedly at him, and, yeah, that was an expression he was not use to seeing from the other man.

“We do.”

“You’re not.” The Son gestured toward Juice’s stomach.

He glanced down to see two red blotches, one on his chest, the other near his hip. It surprised the hell out of him. He hadn’t even felt the hit. All the adrenaline coursing through him had numbed him to the impact. Now that he knew they were there, he was starting to feel the telltale signs of pain.

“Oh shit.” Braeden reached out and lifted up his shirt, seeing thick black veins ran from the wounds around his torso. “Wolfsbane.”

“If that’s the same kind they hit Liam with…” Kira’s voice trailed off.

“Okay, this is what we have to do,” The mercenary inhaled deeply and took in their surroundings. “We need to distract these guys long enough for someone to get him out of here-“

“I’m fine.” He lied. He didn’t want out of the fight now, not when everyone was still out there.

“It nearly killed Liam in an hour, and his wounds weren’t as close to his heart.” He heard Malia say lowly, which was all wrong because she was not with them. “Don’t be an idiot. I can smell the poison from here.”

“Malia.” He didn’t dare look in the direction of where her voice was coming from. He would not alert the hunters to her presence.

“Where is she?” Kira questioned, keeping her eyes trained on the enemy.

“Close.” He couldn’t scent her, there were too many other things overriding his senses, but she could see and scent him and that meant she wasn't that far away.

“Derek’s nearby.” The coyote told him.

“Derek is too.” He relayed to the others.

“They can attack from the outside. Kira and I the inside. One of you,” She looked to the Sons. “Have to take him to the vet’s office.”

“Is that a good idea?” Kira asked under her breath, loud enough for only Braeden and Juice to hear. “They kind of want him…dead, right?”

“They won’t hurt him.” Braeden didn’t speak in the same hushed tones. She looked directly at the men as she spoke. “Stiles likes Juice more than he likes them. If they kill him, Stiles won’t hesitate to kill them. Their survival is contingent on his.”

“We won’t hurt him.” Happy placed a hand on Juice’s shoulder. His heartbeat didn’t give away a lie, so Juice felt comfortable believing what the man was saying. “I’ll take him.”

“Okay.” Braeden jerked her head to Rat. “Cover them until they make it back to the van.”

“I will.”

* * *

 

The Calaveras had Scott in a standing position, wrists and ankles cuffed to a metal frame. He was shitless, cords and wires attached to his side. Continuous electrocution, Stiles mind supplied. He looked exhausted, as if they hadn’t let him rest at all since they took him.

“Stiles…” He said weakly, barely lifting his eyes to greet him.

“Put him up beside his Alpha.” Araya ordered after having him thoroughly searched for weapons. Twice. “He can feel McCall’s pain, just as McCall will soon feel his.”

“No!” Scott pulled against his restraints and Stiles had to agree. The prospect of being electrocuted did not sound like a good time to him.

“If you want this to last, then I would choose a different form of torture.” If she was saving him for the grand finale, then the rest of the pack had to go first. It was going to take time to round them all up. “I have a bum ticker, as everyone is so keen on reminding me. Scott’s dad tasered me last week and made my heartbeat spaz out. I would rather not have a repeat performance. Regulating it is not a fun process.”

“You are speaking as if I am going to allow you to leave and seek medical attention if you need it.” She clucked her tongue disapprovingly. “What would make you think that?”

“I’m an optimist.” He shrugged while Scott let out an undignified snort. “Seriously, if you want this to last, you need a method other than electrocution. It’s just a suggestion.”

He watched her eyes flicker to Chris, who was shaking his head like Stiles was the stupidest person the planet. He was aware he was being challenging, egging her on, and setting himself up for a world of pain. Truth be told, though, he wasn’t confident any _human_ heart could withstand continuous shocks at the voltage she liked to play with. He would much rather take his chances with whatever else she had in her bag of tricks.

“Chain him up in the chair.” She pointed toward one in the corner. “I want the hand that’s in a cast strapped to the table.”

“Aw crap.”

“Second thoughts on joining Alpha McCall, Mr. Stilinski?”

“No ma’am.” His thoughts were focused solely on how much this was going to fucking hurt.

* * *

 

He blacked out somewhere between the woods and the road. He came too laid out in the back of the clubs van. It was barreling down the street at a high rate of speed that John would be appalled by. He thought for a moment about mentioning it, before remembering who he was in the vehicle with.

“Happy?” His voice was rough, like he had been screaming. Maybe he had been. Or, maybe it was the poison causing him to burn. “Happy?”

“What?” The older man smacked his hand against the steering wheel, sounding too loud and too harsh.

“They didn’t-“ Fuck his mouth was dry and his throat felt as if he had swallowed acid. “Stiles and Chibs, they didn’t know I was alive until days afterward. For Chibs it was weeks, but Stiles days. Th-they didn’t know, ‘kay?”

Happy didn’t respond. He probably did not believe him. Why would he? He had no reason to. Juice had lied to him for five years.

“Don’t blame them for what I did. They didn’t know.” The last thing he wanted was for his husband and his best friend to pay for something that was his fault. “It was my choice. I did everything the club asked me to do. Everything Jax asked. I died like he wanted me to. It was only for a few minutes, but I did.”

“Shut up, Juice.”

“If you need to make it right, just pull over. Let the wolfsbane work through my system. It shouldn’t take long.” With how quickly the Son hit the brakes, he was sure Happy was going to take him up on the offer, and that he was going to take his last breath in this van. “You don’t know your way around Beacon Hills. Just tell them you got lost on your way to Deaton’s.”

“I’m not going to kill you.” No, the wolfsbane would do that. “I’m not letting you die. I know how to get to the vet’s office. Stiles gave us all directions, but you knew that didn’t you?”

“Why?” He couldn’t help but ask. “Why are you-“

“None of your business.” Happy snarled as he started driving again, taking a sharp turn around a corner.

“Thank you.”

“Shut up.” He said again with less heat. “Don’t die before we get there.”

“I’ll try not to.”

* * *

 

When Araya brought out the saw, he thought she would cut off his hand. Instead, she used the instrument to cut away his cast. Then she brought out a hammer.

He didn’t scream when the vile woman slammed it down on to his already injured appendage. He didn’t cry or yell, like any normal person would. No, he fucking laughed. Every time she brought the tool down on his flesh, he broke out in a fit of hysterical laughter. She seemed both impressed and irritated by that.

She turned it into a game. She would continue to up the voltage on Scott, but if the Alpha didn’t flinch or cry out then she would leave Stiles’ hand alone. To keep things fair, if Stiles didn’t jerk or make a pained noise, then the voltage she used on Scott would stay the same. Needless to say, they both really sucked at the not flinching thing.

They were an hour into the game when Chris beckoned Araya out of the room. Stiles was sure Argent only let it go on that long because he did hate Stiles a bit, for killing his sister, whether she was one of the bad guys or not. Stiles didn’t blame him for that.

“Scotty,” He let his head loll against the back of the chair so he could take in the alpha’s appearance. “You look like crap. You okay?”

“I feel like a live wire.” That was to be expected given all the electricity that had been pumped into him. “And not in a good way. Is your hand-“

“It’ll be fine.” After a surgery or two he may regain limited mobility, if he was lucky.

“Your hand being in a cast, did that have something to do with my dad?” Of fucking course Scott would bring up the crap about his dad here, when Stiles was chained to a damn chair with no way to escape.

“Yeah.” Though he was not going to tell Scott the how and the why of that. “Oh, hey, something good came out of that. Juice is alive again.”

“What?”

“ _Juan Carlos_ is alive again.” He clarified. “It’s a long story. He’s not wanted by the cops or anything. He’s free and clear.”

“That’s awesome!” The alpha sounded genuinely excited for him.

“Totally.”

“So, not to sound ungrateful or anything, but you came in here with a plan, right?” The wolf asked hopefully. “You didn’t _let_ Chris take you.”

“I have a plan.” He glanced toward the guard who seemed more than a little interested in their conversation. “Hey buddy, you got the time?”

“Why? You got a hot date?” The brute quipped but checking his watch anyway. “It’s just after midnight.”

“We got a little time.” He told Scott, hoping everything would work on the schedule he had set up.

“Okay.” Scott nodded, looking bored before his eyes lit up.”Oh! How was New York, dude?”

“It was good.” He answered honestly. There were some bad memories brought up, but all in all the trip was good. “I didn’t get to see any sights, but I saw my grandparents and spent a lot of time with Juice’s family.”

“What are they like?” He questioned curiously.

“They’re so normal.” He really hadn’t been expecting that. “Super nice.”

“Is he gonna keep in touch with them?”

“Yeah, I think so.” He didn’t think the Ortiz’s would let Juice slip back out of their lives again when they just got him back. “His younger brother was talking about coming to Oregon to visit.”

“That’s cool.”

“Yeah.” As long as the oldest brother didn’t come along. “Hey, did you talk to Kira about you two coming to visit with us for a few days?”

“She’s down for it. Fourth of July weekend sound good?”

“Definitely.” They usually drove the boys to the coast to watch the fireworks, they wouldn't mind having Scott and Kira join them.

“Would you both shut up?” The guard glared at them.

“No. You are holding us against our will.” Stiles pointed out. “We cannot move our bodies, but we can run our mouths.”

“I can duct tape your mouth shut.” He threatened.

“You can try.” He might not be a werewolf but he would bite that son of a bitches hand off. “I dare you.”

“Stiles, do you always have to antagonize the bad guy?” Scott grumbled halfheartedly.

“I can’t really help it.” It kind of just happened. “I’ve got to entertain myself somehow. And, you know, I don’t think he’s such a bad guy.”

“Oh?”

“If he exhibited any real evil tendencies they would have given him something worthwhile to do instead of putting him on bitch duty.” The way the guards eye twitched told him he’d hit the nail on the head. “He’s probably never pulled the trigger in the field. He can’t be trusted to do anything other than watch two people who are injured and chained up. He is a glorified babysitter.”

“They trusted me enough to task me with dealing with the sheriff and that nurse bitch.” The man shot back, getting in Stiles space, an ugly sneer on his face.

“You are the one who ran them off the road?” He asked calmly.

“Oh yeah.” He grinned manically. “Wasn’t supposed to kill them, just hurt them. I think I did my job pretty well.”

“I’m going to remember that when I’m out of these chains.” There was no way he would let that slide.

The guard looked as if he would hiss another snide comment his way when a loud commotion outside the door caused him to jerk back. He eyed the door suspiciously, as if someone were going to break it down. He probably should have been paying more attention to his prisoners because in the same moment Scott broke free of his restraints.

The alpha landed on the floor in crouched position, prepared to attack. His eyes bled red as his features shifted to compliment his wolf. He kept his growl low, yet it still echoed off the walls of the small room.

The guard turned back to them, not hiding his fear. Stiles decided the dude was either new or just not cut out for the life of a hunter. He ignored the guy in favor of Scott. He watched the wolf arch his back, set his feet, and could already see what was going to happen next. Scott would jump up, lung off the wall, do a back flip, and bunch of other unnecessary crap before he actually touched the guard.

“Don’t do it, Scotty! Just knock him out. We are on a schedule.” They did not have time for showboating. “Hit him. That is all you have to do.”

“But-“

“Schedule, Scotty!”

“Fine.” He sighed as if not engaging in some dramatic fight sequence was a big disappointment.

The alpha dutifully did as he was told. He knocked the guard out with a single punch to the face. The dude fell to the ground like a sack of potatoes.

“Good job.” He praised. “Now untie me, please.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He made his way over and began removing the chains, being extra mindful of his mangled hand.

“How the hell did you get out of yours?” Seriously, Stiles hadn’t been expecting that.

“I’ve had all night to work on those cuffs. The wolfsbane they were soaked in and the electrocution made it a slow process.” Slow or not he fucking did it, and at the perfect time to. “Okay, there, you are free.”

“Awesome. Thank you.” He clapped Scott on the shoulder with his good hand as he stood. “You need to get out of here without _anyone_ seeing you.”

“What?”

“You need to leave. Get to Deaton’s, that’s where everyone else is. I will explain everything later.” If Scott stayed, he would be questioned. There would be a record of his involvement and that would nullify part of what he was trying to do here. “Go now, as quietly and sneakily as you can.”

“What about you?”

“I have to stay.” He had to make sure everything went according to plan and none of the bad guys got away. “I’ll go straight to the hospital after this. Now go!”

“Stiles-“

“Go!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [TUMBLR](http://www.stilinski-ortiz.tumblr.com/)  
> [Youtube](https://www.youtube.com/user/SandM1827/)  
>  Thank you for all the comments and kudos, they are greatly appreciated.


	10. All This Feels Strange And Untrue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd.  
> Title comes from Open Your Eyes by Snow Patrol  
> Gif set: [Opie?](http://stilinski-ortiz.tumblr.com/post/125308959304/son-shine-opie-crossed-lines-chapter-10)  
> So, I don't actually ever remember them mentioning Rat's first name. The SOA wiki says it's George, so that is what I went with.

His eyes shot open as fire burned in his chest and bile rose in his throat. There were hands on him, turning him just in time for him to spew black poison into a waiting metal basin. It did jackshit to make him feel better.

“Dude,” He lifted his gaze toward the voice, finding Liam lying on a makeshift cot not far from the exam table he was laid out on. “Get used to it. You are going to be upchucking that crap for awhile.”

“Awesome.” He grumbled, feeling the invasive hands lower his body back down so he could rest his head on the pillow.

“The hybrid form of wolfsbane you were poisoned with lingers long after the antidote is given.” Deaton explained, leaning over Juice to inspect his wounds. “It slows down your healing, dulls your wolf. It makes it hard for the toxin to leave your body. Liam was dosed with a minor amount in his leg. You received double that, dangerously close to your heart.”

“So, I’m not out of the woods yet?” Was there still a chance he could die?

“You were unconscious and not breathing when your friend brought you in. Your heart stopped.” Considering he felt like he was at deaths door, that really didn’t surprise him. “Noshiko shocked you back to life.”

“Stiles does not find out about that.” He would thank Noshiko later, after everyone signed non-disclosure agreements to keep Stiles in the dark about that fact. “Am I going to live or what?”

“I expect you to make a full recovery, though it is going to very unpleasant for the next several days. The nausea and vomiting will continue until the poison is out of your system. That could take a day or two, possibly a week. I’m not sure.” Oh great, something to look forward to. “Your healing won’t fully kick in until the wolfsbane has been completely expelled from your body. You will heal faster than a human, but much slower than a werewolf. I stitched up your wounds to help the process along. You will be right as rain in a few days.”

“Thanks.” He only had to deal with vomiting black bile and the pain that came with being shot twice. “How is everyone else? Are they still searching the preserve?”

“The fellow who brought you in-“

“Happy.”

“ _Happy_ , is standing guard outside. I believe he is under the impression that someone may try to break in and attack us all.” The Calaveras didn’t think twice about attacking John and Melissa, it wasn’t a stretch to think they would attack the vet’s office. “Right before you woke up, we received a call from the others. They are on their way here now.”

“And everyone is okay?” Was everyone accounted for? Was anyone hurt?

“No injuries were reported.” That didn’t mean there weren’t any. “You should rest. You have a long few days ahead of you.”

“Wanna wait for the others.” It wasn’t a viable option when sleep was already pulling at his eyes.

“Dude,” Liam addressed him for the second time. “You want to sleep through as much of this as possible. Trust me.”

“Gotta talk to Tig.” He had to tell Tig and Rat what he told Happy.

“You can talk to him later.” A feminine voice, Noshiko, if he was guessing correctly, told him as a cold compress was placed on to his forehead and his eyes fell shut. “Sleep.”

* * *

 

He was fairly certain the feds who were raiding the place had been shown his picture at some point before they had come in. They didn’t look at him twice, too focused on the intended targets to pay him any mind. They didn’t even bat an eyelash when he shoved his way passed them so he could personally slap the silver bracelets on Araya’s wrists and assist in loading her into the transport van.

“Does having you arrested break that pretty little code of yours?” She couldn’t do much more than glare in response to his arrogance.

“Antagonizing the enemy,” Braeden drawled as she joined him near the tunnel entrance. “It’s like a nervous tick for you, isn’t it?”

“Kind of.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Did you send the others to Deaton’s?”

“Yeah, before I brought my load of Calaveras.” She gestured toward the ones currently being moved from her van to the second waiting transport vehicle. “Derek was going to wait in the woods for us, but Scott convinced him to let us handle this.”

“Is everyone okay?”

“They were all breathing the last time I saw them.” That was not a very reassuring statement.

“Officer Stilinski!” Someone called out to him.

“I really wish people would stop calling me that.” He sighed as they both turned to greet the new presence. It was an older man in an expensive suit trudging over to them, tripping over sticks and rocks as he went. “It’s just Stilinski or Stiles. I’m not a police officer anymore.”

“It will be Special Agent Stilinski once you complete your training.” The man corrected, holding out hand. “Section Chief Shaw.”

“Oh. Nice to meet you.” He shook the man’s hand with his good one. “I didn’t know you would be making the trip.”

“I wouldn’t normally, but I do have a personal investment in this particular arrest.” Yeah, that investment being Stiles. “And this would be Braeden, yes? The US Marshall.”

“Former.” She shifted uncomfortably on her feet.

“Uh, I didn’t…” He never actually mentioned her by name. He just said he had a friend who happened to be a US Marshall that would be helping out. “Is there something I can do for you, Section Chief Shaw?”

“No. No. I just wanted to see this through with my own eyes. Also, we need to set up a meeting to negotiate the specifics of the job you have agreed to take. Obviously, we will wait out your recovery.” He grimaced at Stiles mangled appendage. “Braeden, I will expect you at the meeting you as well, to go over your offer.”

“Excuse me?” She looked as confused as Stiles felt by the turn of events. “This was a onetime thing. Rounding up fugitives is no longer in my job description.”

“You and Stilinski work well together. The two of you will be valuable assets to my team.” It was clear he was going to ignore her lack of agreement. “I look forward to working with you both again soon.”

“We are not a team. There is no both.” Braeden protested. “I’m not-“

“Shaw!” Another voice yelled out, capturing the section chief’s attention. “We found another one.”

“Where?” He questioned as they watched two agents more or less dragging out the same guy who had played guard dog to he and Scott.

“He was handcuffed to a wall with all kinds of wires attached to him. They were sending pulses of electricity through his body.” The fed explained. “He’s got Calaveras ink.”

“He did it!” The man pointed an accusing finger at Stiles. “He did this to me!”

“Stilinski,” Shaw quirked a brow at him. “Do you have any idea what he’s talking about?”

“Not a clue.” He kept his face blank and his tone placid. He would give no indication of guilt. He kept the voltage low enough so that it would be painful, but would not leave any lasting damage. That was all that mattered.

“He did it!” The man repeated as he was hauled to a car. “He put me on that wall!”

“Have you seen my hand?” He lifted up the bloodied and injured one. “Do you really think I could heft him up on that wall? He has a hundred pounds on me and I’m working one-handed. I couldn’t do that.”

“Right.” Shaw didn’t seem inclined to believe him, but let it go nonetheless. “Well, I need to take care of this and you need medical attention. I’ll be in touch.”

“Okay.”

He was thankful they didn’t have to stick around to make any statements. Officially, this never happened, because the Calaveras never made it to Beacon Hills. They were picked up not long after they crossed the border from Mexico. As it turned out, they had multiple warrants spanning several states and three different countries.

“Did you just get me a job that I don’t want?” Braeden asked incredulously.

“Not intentionally.” He had not meant to involve her quite that much.

He had agreed to take the feds up on the job offer if they could help him out with the Calaveras. There were stipulations that were to be discussed at a later date, once things had settled down. Braeden, however, had not been part of the deal.

“I’ll deal with that later.” She waved it off and jerked a thumb toward her van. “Let’s go.”

He followed her to the vehicle and sat in the passenger seat against his better judgment. He wanted to drive, he hated being driven, but under the circumstances, he doubted she would allow him to operate any car, let alone her van.

“Who was the guy you had hanging on the wall?” She inquired conversationally as if it were a normal occurrence.

“He’s the one who ran my dad and Melissa off the road.” He wouldn’t deny it to her. Unlike the rest of the pack, she wouldn’t judge him for what he had done.

“Huh.” That was it. _Huh_. There was no lecture or disapproval, only simple acceptance. “How’s your hand? Does it hurt?”

“Not really.” It was probably a sign of serious damage that he wasn’t feeling much in that hand at all. Or, it could be that the pain was muted by…uh…other emotions. “Hey, let’s pick up Juice before we go to the hospital.”

“What? No.” She spared a glance to his hand. “I can actually see the crushed bones inside of your hand, on the outside of your hand. Hospital now. You can see your old man later.”

“My hand doesn’t even hurt. It can wait another half hour for medical attention.” He could deal with it for thirty minutes. Hell, he might not even need that long.

“It doesn’t take a half hour to get from Deaton’s to the hospital. Why would you need.…” Her voice trailed off as she took her eyes off the road to take in his features, not so subtly looking down at his crotch before shaking her head. It wasn’t hard to figure out why he wanted his husband and the extra time. “Really?”

“Have you ever had _oh my god we survived_ sex?” ‘Cause he had and he really wanted to have it with Juice.

 _We Survived Sex_ was pure adrenaline and passion. You didn’t wait to stitch up your wounds or to wash off the dirt and grime. There was a good chance you wouldn’t even get all your clothes off or make it to a soft bed. The couch, the floor, any hard surface was good enough in moments like that. There was such an overwhelming need to feel the person you loved beneath your hands, to see them alive, and to breathe each breath together because you could have easily taken your last one earlier that day.

“I haven’t had that kind of sex in a very long time. I really, _really_ , want to fuck my husband, okay? Just take me to him. Please.”

“No.” She said slowly. “You have to go to the hospital. And I don’t think Juice would be able to get it up right now even if he wanted to.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Weren’t you just tortured? Shouldn’t you be traumatized not horny?” She griped, looking like she was in physical pain from having this conversation.

“What, like it’s my first time being tortured?” The feeling of being traumatized was no longer in his repertoire. “Come on, take me to Juice.”

“No. You are going to the hospital.”

“But I was tortured!” He wasn’t above begging. Seriously, he would grovel if it got her to turn the van toward the vet’s office instead of the ER. “I am traumatized! I need him to make me feel safe.”

“You just said you weren’t traumatized!”

“I lied.” He replied weakly, trying to appear small and innocent so she would take pity on him. “ _I want Juice_. Please?”

“You are going to the hospital.” There was a note of finality in her voice that made him want to stomp his foot like a two-year old. “I am going to dump you on whatever poor doctor lands your case. That is what is going to happen.”

“But-“

“You will see Juice when you see him and not a moment sooner.” When the hell did she turn into his mother? “I should have let Derek come. He would have been able to keep you quiet.”

“Oh please.” He scoffed. “In what world would Derek Hale be able to shut me up?”

“In a world I would like to be in right now.”

* * *

 

Waking up the second time, or maybe it was the third time, was harder than the previous attempts. His eyes were so heavy they refused to open on command like they were supposed to. His body felt almost paralyzed, and he wondered if that was another side effect of the wolfsbane.

He couldn’t move. He could not see. The only thing he could do was listen to the conversation going on around him.

“You checked on my mom?” That was Scott. The alpha was in the room, that had to mean the mission was a success.

“Yeah. She’s good.” Braeden assured the younger man. “They released her right before I got there, but she’s going to stick around the hospital to check in on the others.”

“The sheriff?” The Alpha was taking stock of his injured pack members, like a good leader should after a battle.

“He was awake. Alert.” That was good. It was better than he had been when Stiles and Juice had arrived in Beacon Hills. “I told him about Stiles. He’s probably going to harass the doctors and nurses every twenty minutes for updates.”

Stiles. They had told John something about Stiles that required nurses or doctors to inform him of his current status. That could only mean Stiles was hurt and couldn’t speak to his dad himself. It had to be bad, because Stiles would walk on two broken legs if it would save his father from worrying.

The knowledge that his husband was injured seemed to kick his body out of its paralysis. He pried his eyelids open, momentarily blinded by the overhead lights shining down on him. It took a hell of a lot more effort to get his limbs to cooperate, and by the time he had, the others had noticed he was no longer unconscious.

“Juan Carlos, it is better if you remain still. If you need to vomit, we will help you roll over.” Deaton said from somewhere to his right.

“Stiles.” He breathed out, struggling to sit up on his elbows. “Hospital.”

“Lie back down.” The vet insisted.

“Have to go.” He couldn’t stay there and lie down when Stiles was hurt. “He needs me.”

“You are not well enough to move.” Like that was going to stop him. “Lie down.”

“No.” He would already be on his feet and halfway to the exit if he could get his damn legs to work properly.

“Juice,” Scott was suddenly in front of him, eyes bleeding red and authority dripping in his tone. “You need to stop. You are not going anywhere.”

The wolf inside of him bristled at the audacity the alpha had in thinking it could order him to do anything.

“Stop.” Scott repeated, more forcefully this time.

Had he been a member of Scott’s pack, his wolf would have made him bare his neck and submit. Though Scott had bitten him, he had never accepted him as his alpha. Hearing Scott try to use that power on him, set off a primal instinct in him, but not the one Scott might have been hoping for.

His features shifted faster than they ever had as he lunged up and roared in the Alpha’s face. The younger man should have known better than to try to use that alpha-wolf crap on him. His own wolf wanted no part of it. It wanted to lash out, to sink his claws into Scott’s flesh, and tear him apart.

All at once, he seemed to be surrounded by people. There were too many hands touching him, pushing him back, and pulling at his clawed hands to keep him from ripping into the alpha. The voices, so many yelling at him to stop, but only one made it through the haze of it all.

“Juice!” The familiar male voice along with a hand placed on his bare chest was enough to startle him back into his human form.

His eyes flickered from Scott to find recognizable green eyes, greasy hair, and leather. He knew he should be frightened. Anyone wearing a kutte was still a threat to him, but he felt nothing but relief at the sight of the older man. He let himself relax and allowed the man to nudge his body gently back onto the table.

“Tig…” He wasn’t sure what else to say other than his name. He should apologize, he knew that, but he couldn’t form the words just yet.

“You good?” Tig asked, letting his hand linger on Juice’s chest.

“Yeah.” He nodded, resting his head back on the pillow. He lifted a hand to wrap his fingers around Tig’s wrist, just to be sure he was there. The older man seemed surprised by the gesture but didn’t knock his hand away.

“Okay.” Rather than moving away and letting the pack deal with him, Tig used his free hand to pull over a stool so he could sit next to exam table. “Can’t have you killing Scott. Stiles wouldn’t be too happy about that.”

“Stiles.” The name brought him back to the reason he was so worked up to begin with.

“He’s okay.” He wanted to believe Tig, but all he knew was Stiles was hurt and no one would tell him anything. “He wasn’t shot or anything. He’s having surgery on his hand.”

“Why?”

“I guess the Calaveras took a hammer to it.” He made it seem like no big deal, as if it happened every day. “He’s going to be fine.”

“Should be there.” Someone needed to be there when Stiles woke up. John wasn’t up for the job, being in his own hospital room and all.

“Don’t worry. I’ve got someone special watching out for him.” He brushed off Juice’s questioning look in favor of narrowing his eyes. “You ready to talk to me or do you want to wait for Chibs? He’s on his way.”

“Try to talk.” It was hard to speak. It felt like he had been drugged. He wasn’t as lucid as he had been the first time he had woken up. “Alone. Club only.”

“Okay.” Tig shot a look over his shoulder. “Can we get some privacy?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Scott commented. “Stiles wouldn’t-“

“Stiles isn’t here.” He didn’t get a vote if he wasn’t present. “Get out.”

“Come on, Scott.” Kira pulled at the alpha’s arm. “We’ll hear if anything happens.”

“Liam has to stay here.” Deaton reminded him of the beta sleeping in the cot across the room.

“That’s fine.” It wasn’t as if they would have any real privacy. Anyone with supernatural hearing would be listening in.

“So, you’re a werewolf.” Tig pointed out once the others had gone, and Rat and Happy had taken up positions blocking the entryway. “Been that way long?”

“Scott turned me before I went into County that last time.” The timing was telling enough. “I didn’t go looking for it. He offered it. I just…I knew Jax would never let me out of there. Nothing I did was going to be enough to earn my way back in. I didn’t want to die.”

“Then why did you agree to the plan to begin with?” It was an honest question. Why did he choose to walk into a situation he knew he wouldn’t walk out of?

“The club needed someone inside to do their dirty work.” They needed someone to kill Lin. “And I needed to do everything I could to try and make up for what I did.”

“Christ, kid.”

“I didn’t know if being a wolf would save me, but if I had to die,” And he had died, it just didn’t stick. “I was going to do it knowing I did everything you all asked of me.”

Tig’s blunt human nails dug into his chest, but he didn’t mention it. The older man looked at him with an expression on his face that made Juice think he had broken his heart. He couldn’t remember ever seeing that level of pain on Tig since Dawn had been killed, and he didn’t understand why he was seeing it now.

“Lin. That was it. That was all.” Tig scrubbed a free hand down his face. “The club didn’t agree to _anything_ else.”

“I know.” Stiles had relayed that information just the other day. “I’m not sorry for finding a way to live, but I am sorry for making you think I was dead. Like I told Hap, Stiles and Chibs didn’t know right away.”

“I didn’t think they had. You can’t fake that kind of grief.” Well, he wasn’t the only one they were grieving at the time, so it would have been easy to write off. “Chibs has known this whole time and he didn’t say a thing. Stiles flat out lied to me on the phone not two days ago –“

“They were protecting me.” This was exactly what he was afraid of, Stiles and Chibs being punished for decisions he made. “If you’re pissed, take it out on me.”

“Secrets are what put you in County in the first place.” A combination of his own and Jax’s contributed to him being locked away. “Chibs should have told us you were alive when he told us the truth about that shit Jax had done to you.”

He didn’t have a response for that. He only recently found out Chibs had told them anything. If he wanted to, Chibs could have told them absolutely everything. He had no idea why he hadn’t. It was something Tig and the rest of the club would have to ask their Pres.

“Chibs and Stiles aren’t the only ones who…” Tig shook his head and for a moment, Juice could swear he saw his eyes glistening with unshed tears but that couldn’t be true. “We lost a lot of people, a lot of family. It would have been nice to know that one of our brother’s was still alive.”

“I’m sorry.” There wasn’t much more he could do but apologize. “What do you want me to say, Tig?”

“I don’t know, kid.” Tig finally seemed to realize that his nails were dug into Juice’s chest and released them quickly, patting the indents they left behind in his skin like that would make it all better. “I’m not mad at you.”

“You’re not?”

“No. I can’t really be pissed at Stiles either. Not after everything that happened. I can’t really fault him for holding on to someone after losing everyone else.” That was pretty much the same reason John didn’t turn him into the cops when he had made his miraculous resurrection. “Chibs and I are going to have words-“

“It’s not his fault.”

“He kept it from us-“

“To protect me.”

“I get why he did it, but he should have trusted us.” Well, trust was not the first word that came to mind when he thought about SAMCRO. “It’s a trust issue, not a _you_ issue.”

“I don’t want things to get messed up between you two, because of me.” He didn’t want to be the cause of anymore drama within the club ranks.

“It’s not going to get messed up. I just want to talk to him.” ‘Talking’ could mean one of two things with the club. It could mean actual talking or a couple rounds in the boxing ring. “Don’t worry about it, all right?”

“Fine.” He would worry about it later, but currently he had other things on his mind, like the poison making its way up his throat. “Tig, I-I need to-“

“What? Shit.” He hefted Juice up and leaned him over the side of the table he could vomit into the bucket. “This brings back memories, don’t it?”

“Oh yeah.” Except alcohol tasted much better than wolfsbane coming up.

“Let it out, kid.” Tig rubbed circles on his back, which was all kinds of weird. “It is supposed to be black?”

“Yes.” He released more of the poison via spewing before slumping back down, exhausted from the exertion. “Tiggy?”

“What do you need, Juicy?”

“Break me out of here, huh?” If he could convince anyone to do it, it would be Tig. “Take me to the hospital to see Stiles.”

“He’s going to be in surgery for a couple hours.” What the hell did that matter? “I will take you to the hospital when he wakes up.”

“But-“

“Take care of yourself right now, okay? I don’t even think you can walk on your own in this condition." He probably couldn’t, but he would damn well try. “You should try to get some more sleep. It’ll make the time pass quicker.”

“You’ll take me when he wakes up?” He didn’t want to be placated. He wanted to see Stiles.

“Yes.”

“Thanks.” Tig wouldn’t let the pack keep him here against his will. He would find a way get him out. “Missed you, Tiggy.”

“Missed you too, kid.”

* * *

 

The one thing he remembered seeing before he went under was Liam’s stepdad looking down at him with a perplexed expression on his face. That probably had something to do with the fact that instead counting backward, as instructed, he had grumbled about a mean woman not letting him have sex with his husband. The doctor more than likely wrote that off as pain induced confusion rather than taking him seriously.

The next time he opened his eyes he was alone. The room he was left in was quiet, so quiet he could hear his own heart beating. Everything was much too bright, as if there were a dozen lamps lighting the small room, but he couldn’t find one actual source of light anywhere. If that wasn’t weird enough, he noticed he wasn’t attached to any IV’s or monitors, as he should be after surgery. A glance at his hand, previously injured, showed no signs of trauma or damage at all, almost like nothing had ever happened to it.

“I’m dreaming.” It was the only plausible explanation.

He climbed off the bed, finding no reason to stay there if he wasn’t hurt. The floor was blessedly warm beneath his bare feet, instead of the ice cold he’d become accustomed to when walking on tiled floors. It was just one more sign he was dreaming. He didn’t have to count his fingers to know this place wasn’t real.

There were no patients or medical staff bustling about when he opened the door. The place seemed void of people, other than himself. A glance down one end of the hall gave him no indication of where he was, but it looked nothing like Beacon Hills Memorial. A look down the other end, however, held a sign hanging from a wall that told him exactly where his dream had placed him.

“St. Thomas.” He was in Charming. It wasn’t too much of a shock. He tended to dream of places he had been before.  

He took the sign as, well, a sign, and headed in that direction. When he turned right down a hall, toward the waiting room, he heard the telltale signs of an elevator door opening behind him, followed by footsteps. Whoever it was didn’t set off his bad-guy radar, they didn’t have the hair on the back of his neck standing on end, so he wasn’t worried. Though, the last time he had a dream this vivid he had seen Jax at the old clubhouse.

 _“Should you be out of bed?”_ He froze mid-step, letting the deep voice wash over him. He hadn’t heard it in so long.

“Opie.” He turned slowly, his gaze finding the other man standing just a few feet away. “You’re here…”

He couldn’t help but stare, and Opie didn’t seem to mind. He looked just as he had when Stiles was barely a teenager, back when Donna was still alive. That was when he was happiest, and that is how Stiles always chose to remember him.

_“Expecting someone else?”_

“This is St. Thomas, I thought it might be Tara.” He thought of St. Thomas he thought of Tara. It was where she worked, and had given birth to one of his nephews. “I guess my subconscious likes to surprise me.”

 _“Do you want to see Tara?”_ There was no right answer to that question. If he said no, it would seem like he didn’t care for her, as if she didn’t mean much to him. If he said yes, then Opie might leave and that was the last thing he wanted.

“Jax said I couldn’t see you.” He had let Opie go, so there was no reason for him to be there, that was what his dream version of Jax had said.

 _“Jax lies.”_ Opie told him with a shrug of his shoulders. _“It’s your head, brother, we’re just living in it.”_

“That’s comforting.” Or, utterly terrifying, depending on how you looked at it. “I’ve seen you before, in a dream, haven’t I?”

 _“You tell me.”_ Opie said as they both took seats in the empty waiting area.

“It was when I was possessed. I was lost. I had a bear trap around my ankle. It was in Eichen House’s basement.” It was what he had hallucinated anyway. In reality, he had been in a coyote den in the middle the preserve. “You told me to use my phone.”

Waking up in a dark basement had caused him to panic. He began to hyperventilate, only for Opie’s voice to break through his frightened fog. It had a near instant calming effect. He hadn’t even thought about how odd it was for a dead man to be there with him.

 _“Someone had to remind you to use your common sense.”_ If anyone was fit for the job, it was Opie. _“Common sense is something you don’t seem to have anymore. You took a big risk letting Argent take you to the Calaveras.”_

“Yeah.” Part of him wanted to ask how Opie knew that, before he remembered all of this was happening in his mind. Opie knew because it was in his head right along with him. “You don’t really get to lecture me on it. I learned how to make decisions in times of war by watching you and Jax.”

 _“You should have learned from us, not imitated us.”_ Yeah, that would have been the smart thing to do. _“You had to know there was a chance she could have just killed you the moment you walked in. How did it feel?”_

“Liberating.” Being put in a life or death situation always gave him a good high. He hadn’t felt that way in a long time. Life in suburbia didn’t hold the same level of excitement he had grown used to in Beacon Hills and Charming. “I thought being a cop would help, you know? It’s not the safest job in the world. I thought it could help me feel more…”

_“Alive.”_

“It’s not the same, though. It’s not like the pack or the club.” It didn’t give him the same rush that he had when he ran with wolves. “Juice and I, we have this plan. When the boys are out of school, we are going to leave. We’re going to go on a road trip that doesn’t end and find all the excitement we can handle. Now, I don’t think we can wait that long, not since…”

 _“Not since you got a taste of what you both lost.”_ That was exactly it. They both were addicted to lives that held an element of danger, and now they had just gotten a fix after being clean for so long. _“You can’t be half-in and half-out.”_

“I know.” It was why he never stayed in Charming or Beacon Hills any longer than he had to.

 _“Leaving those lives behind, doesn’t mean leaving everyone else behind. Jax and Gemma, they didn’t understand that. Neither did I._ ” They all believed leaving the club, leaving Charming, meant cutting off everyone they left behind. To Stiles, keeping people at a distance was how he kept his children safe. _“Your pack had one problem, in five years, that was settled in one night. That’s a pretty good record. And SAMCRO has gone legit. No guns. No drugs. No illegal activities. They are just a motorcycle club.”_

“What’s your point?” Just because things were calm for a few years did not mean it would stay that way. “It always starts again and there are always casualties.”

_"There weren’t this time.”_

“There could have been.” There nearly was. “What if the boys had been in the car with my dad and Melissa?”

_“They could get hurt anywhere. Accidents happen. It’s a part of life.”_

“It wasn’t an accident.”

 _“Neither was what happened with Wendy.”_ If that wasn’t a slap in the face then he didn’t know what was. _“That was in Oregon. Not in Charming. Not in Beacon Hills.”_

“I know that!” That happened in his home, where the boys were supposed be safe from everything and anyone.

 _“You cannot protect them from every threat in the world. Some of them you won’t see coming.”_ He was aware of that, thank you.

“Staying away from the pack and the club eliminates a hell of a lot of threats.” If they weren’t tied to either, then the enemies that came along with being a wolf or a biker would not see them as targets.

 _“You just took a job based in California that you said put your family at risk.”_ Well, desperate times called for desperate measures. _“Are you going commute eight hours every day? Are you going to move to San Joaquin and leave Juice and the boys in Oregon? What are you going to do, Stiles?”_

“I’ll figure it out.” He was going to have a lot of free time to think about it while he was recovering. “Juice and I will figure it out what is best for our family.”

 _“Including your old man in the decision,”_ Opie nodded his head thoughtfully. _“You already have one up on Jax and me.”_

“Yes. I know all too well how you liked to keep your wives in dark.” It worked out spectacularly for them. “I have learned from some of your mistakes.”

 _“Good. Now learn from your own.”_ His brother said simply, as if he had any idea what that was supposed to mean.

“Can you be a bit more specific?” He had racked up many mistakes in his time.

 _“You and Juice don’t do well on your own.”_ That was a fair point, but he didn’t understand how someone’s inability to be alone constituted as a mistake. It was a character flaw, sure, but it was not a mistake. _“Enough of this self-imposed isolation crap. You need your friends, so does he. It is the only way you are going to survive the apple pie life.”_

“I don’t know if I can do that.” He didn’t know if he was capable of letting SAMCRO or the pack any deeper into their lives. “We have Chibs.”

 _“That is a lot of pressure to put on him.”_ The Scot kept them sane and they did the same for him. It was a two-way street.

“You know, I learned the isolation crap from you.” Opie had pulled away from the club for a little while after losing Donna, then again after his father was killed. “When you found your way back to the club after Piney died, it got you killed.”

 _“Should I have let Jax go ahead with his plan?”_ Stiles knew, Jax had drunkenly admitted it to him not long after Opie’s funeral, that he had planned to sacrifice himself, so that his club brothers could live, but Opie had intervened before he could. _“Would it have been better if he died that day instead of me?”_

“Yes.” It scared him how much he meant that. “He would still be gone, but I would have you. I would still have one of you.”

He turned away from Opie, not wanting to see the judgmental expression that had surely taken up residence on his face. He curled in on himself, bringing his knees up to his chest and burying his face in them. He almost wished he would wake up, while at the same time he wanted to stay there with Opie for as long as he could.

_“It’s okay, Stiles.”_

“No, it’s not.” When it came to his brothers, things hadn’t been okay for a very long time.

Opie didn’t understand, the same way Jax didn’t. He lived his entire life with two big brothers and then they were both ripped away from him. They left him alone. He had to keep going without them and they would never know what that felt like. They had no idea how horrible it was to realize you would willingly give up one brother if it meant you could keep the other, instead of losing them both.

 _“Stiles.”_ There was a ghost of fingertips on the nape of his neck. Ghost was an inaccurate word to describe the man in the room. Opie wasn’t a ghost. This wasn’t Opie at all. This was a figment of his subconscious mind.

He glanced up at the man and felt betrayed. He wanted this thing to really be his brother, but he knew it wasn’t. Accepting that seemed to have an instantaneous reaction, as his minds version of his brother began to fade, and the white noise of a hospital started to filter in to the illusion.

 _“You’re starting to wake up.”_ It pointed out.

“Astute observation, fake-Opie.” He snarked, beginning to feel pain radiate through his left hand. “Would my subconscious like to tell me something I don’t already know?”

 _“Okay,”_ The dream version of his brother sent him a challenging look. _“Juice was shot twice and is laid up at the vet’s office. The club knows he’s alive.”_

“You’re lying.” Braeden hadn’t told him that, so there was no way for fake-Opie could know it.

 _“Tig’s old lady is sitting by your hospital bed. Ask her when you fully wake up.”_ He couldn’t do that. If he asked about Juice, and fake-Opie was lying, then he would be outing his husband. _“Ask her where Tig is. She’ll tell you he’s with Juice.”_

“How…” How could someone his mind conjured up possibly know any of that?

 _“You made a line of mountain ash appear out of thin air, simply by believing, remember?_ ” That was years ago, outside the rave, when they were trying to capture the kanima. _“Is seeing dead people, while you are unconscious and heavily drugged, that much of a stretch?”_

“Yes.” It wasn’t probable or logical. It could not be true. “I’m dreaming. It’s my sub-“

_“It’s not your subconscious or your mind playing tricks on you.”_

“I don’t believe you.”

 _“I know.”_ He seemed almost sad about that. _“It’s time to wake up, little brother.”_

Everything in the general vicinity seemed to slam into his consciousness all at once. The sound of the heart monitor beeping. The scent of god awful antiseptic. The feel of nails gliding softly through his hair and over his scalp.

“There are those beautiful brown eyes.” A woman with a southern drawl said approvingly. “You started twitching around about ten minutes ago, had them eyelids flickering, but I thought you might stay asleep.”

“Venus?” His vision was blurry, but he could make out her silhouette beside him.

“I’m right here, sweet boy.” Her presence might be soothing had he not just woken up from a dream that left him shaken.

“Y-you were,” He cleared his throat, trying to form the proper words. “You were talking to me while I slept.”

“I was.” That explained why fake-Opie knew she was there. And she must have told him about the club and Juice, and it sunk into his mind, whether he remembered hearing it or not. “I wasn’t so much talking as I was singing you a little song.”

“Oh.” That didn’t make since. How the hell did he have that information if no one gave it to him? It was possible he made it up, to scare himself awake. His subconscious was an evil bitch. “W-where’s everyone?”

“TO is still in your daddy’s room. Nurse McCall is in there as well. Filip, your boys, and your friend Lydia should be here in an hour or so.” He must have been in surgery and asleep longer than he thought. “Everyone else is on their way here. I texted them when you started moving about.”

“They okay?” Braeden had told him that everyone was still breathing, but that did not mean they were one-hundred percent okay.

“Well, Alexander, Happy, and George-“

“Who the fuck is George?”

“Ratboy.” She clarified.

“Oh.”

“You can imagine how surprised they were to learn one of their fallen brothers was alive and well.” A pitiful whine escaped his mouth at her admission. Fake-Opie had been telling the truth. “Surprise was replaced with gratitude when he saved Happy’s life.”

“He’s hurt.” That is what fake-Opie had said. The question was, did the enemy do the damage, or had the club? “Venus, how bad is it?”

“He was shot twice with wolfsbane bullets.” His panic rose exponentially, the heart monitor beeping erratically only accentuated that. “Calm down, sweetheart. They got him to the vet’s office in time. He will be perfectly fine.”

“Who did it?” He had to know, especially if Juice was still with the people that hurt him. “Was it the Calaveras or SAMCRO?”

“I am going to pretend like you didn’t ask that.” He had never seen such a dark and offended expression from her before, but it didn’t keep him from noticing she had not given him an actual answer.

“There is a reason he had to play dead.” His fear wasn’t unwarranted, no matter what she thought she knew. “Who did it?”

“The Calaveras.”

“Why should I believe you?” He wasn’t trying to pick a fight, but she had reasons to protect the club.

“Stiles,” A hoarse voice called to him, causing him to whip his head in the direction it was coming from. “It was the Calaveras.”

Juice was standing in the doorway. Okay, 'standing' was not the right word. He was being held up by Tig, with Happy’s looming figure hovering behind him. He was a sickly kind of pale, and had an arm wrapped around his middle, presumably where he was injured.

“Come here,” He lifted the edge of the blanket covering him and beckoned his husband over. “You look like you’re going to hit the floor if you’re on your feet much longer.”

He received immediate compliance instead of the argument he had been expecting. Tig helped Juice walk slowly over to him. The wolf kicked off his shoes before carefully crawling into bed, and curling around Stiles like a damn limpet.

“I’m putting your puke bucket on the table, Juicy.” Tig jingled the handle of said bucket before dropping it down.

“Thanks.” Juice grunted, resting his head on Stiles shoulder.

“What’s the damage?” He wrapped his good arm tightly around the older man.

“He’ll live.” Happy answered.

“Wasn’t asking you.” He was being unnecessarily harsh and combative, but he was too anxious to care.

“Hey,” Tig snapped with no heat behind it. “If anyone is allowed to be pissed-“

“Don’t you fucking start with me.” He would never apologize for the decisions he made to keep his husband safe. “I can start listing off shit you’ve done-“

“But you won’t.” Juice pulled back far enough for Stiles to see the seriousness written on his face. “We are going to stow this shit until Chibs gets here. Then he and Tig are going to talk it out.”

“Whose bright idea was that?” He could hazard a guess, but he wouldn’t like the answer.

“Stiles, calm down.” Juice gripped the shoulder of his bad arm. “Everything is fine. You knew this was a possibility when you called them for back up.”

“I see my mistake now.” He had called them out of fear, did it without thinking it through first, and now here they were.

“Kid, I don’t know what you are freaking out about,” Tig shook his head, his patience beginning to wane. “The clubs got no beef with Juice. We’re not going to hurt him. I don’t know why you think we would.”

“History.” The club didn’t have the best track record. They had hurt Juice before and he knew they could do it again.

“Things are different now.” If Tig was trying to sound reassuring by saying that, then he fell short.

“You’re damn right they are.” Nothing was the way it used to be. “He is not your play thing anymore.”

“Stiles!”

“Our what?” Tig seemed absolutely gobsmacked by the statement.

“He’s _mine_.” He couldn’t hold back the possessiveness in his tone.

“Everyone out!” Juice yelled, untangling himself from Stiles and sitting up. “I need to talk to him. The rest of you go away.”

“Yeah, okay.” Tig agreed. “Get your boy sorted out. I’ll blame this bullshit on the painkillers.”

“Fuck you, Tiggy.” He snarled at the older man.

“Out!” His husband pointed toward the door before the the club VP could retort. “Now.”

Venus and the three Sons all took their sweet time leaving the room. Stiles studiously cast his gaze toward the window, rather than toward the glare Juice was leveling him with. The sound of the door shutting echoed through the tense silence of the room.

“You want to tell me what the hell that was?” He was used to hearing the particular brand of vexation from his dad, and he used to get it from Jax and Gemma as well. He had never heard Juice hit that mark so well.

“I’m not doing this again.” He said grimly, fighting to keep tears from welling up in his eyes. “I am too tired to do this again.”

“Did I miss when we did this the first time?” Stiles almost laughed because, yes, apparently he had. “What aren’t you going to do again?”

“I can’t compete with SAMCRO.” He never won that war. The club had taken Jax and Opie. It had nearly taken Juice from him once before, and it was primed to do it again. “Especially when I know it is an uphill battle that I won’t win.”

“Hold on,” For a moment he thought Juice was so taken aback by what he had to say that he needed a minute to digest it. As it turned out, he only needed vomit, if the wet sound of bile hitting the bottom of a tin bucket meant anything.

“Are you okay?” He sent a cautious sideways glance his way.

“No, but it has nothing to do with the wolfsbane. It’s _you_.” Stiles flinched as if Juice had slapped him. “You think after a couple of hours, that I am just going to go running back to the club?”

“I don’t know.” That was exactly what he thought, actually. It might not happen right away, but it would happen eventually. “Maybe.”

“Why would you even...” A frustrated growl escaped Juice’s throat. “Five years, Stiles. _Five years_ and you think I would just throw it all away for a chance to be a Son again?”

“Let’s be honest, okay? The only reason you came with me to Oregon was because you had nowhere else to go.” Stiles had known going into this marriage that Juice would always belong to SAMCRO. He remembered telling Juice that there might come a day when he wouldn’t be okay with it, and it looked like they had finally reached that day. “If you never had to play dead, if you had earned your way back into the club, then you would have stayed with them. I was your second choice, the one you settled on when you couldn’t have what you really wanted. And now they are here and happy to see you…”

* * *

 

Juice stood from the hospital bed and took a several steps away, trying to put some distance between them. Although, there was obviously enough of that if Stiles truly believed anything he was saying. Given the sorrow on his husband’s face, he believed every word of it.

“Part of the reason I wanted to earn my way back was because I didn’t want to run anymore.” He never would have been able to have a life with Stiles if he was on the run. “I let Scott turn me so I could be with you. I made that decision before I went to prison, before you asked me to marry you. I did not _settle_ for you. I _chose_ you.”

He left the room with that final parting shot, slamming the door behind him with more force than necessary. He couldn’t stay in there with him. Stiles needed to soak in what he had said, to understand, and Juice needed to figure out why Stiles felt the way he did. Neither of them could do that if they were sharing the same space.

He bypassed the waiting room, ignoring the club and pack members gathered there. He was out of breath and felt ready to hurl again when he reached the receptions desk.

“What room is John Stilinski in?” If Chibs were here he would probably go crawling to him with his tail tucked between his legs, begging him to tell him where the hell he had gone wrong to make Stiles feel like he came second to the club. With Chibs still on the road, he had to turn to John, who was probably the only one who could give him any real insight on Stiles anyhow.

“Are you family?”

“I’m his son-in-law.” He would have been able to sniff him out if the smell of sick people wasn’t clogging up his senses.

“Room 304. It’s straight down the hall.”

“Thanks.”

John’s room was only a few doors down from Stiles. He knocked briefly to announce his presence before he entered. TO and Melissa were chatting idly with the older man, who was a little worse for wear, banged up from the accident. The conversation fell silent the minute he stepped into the room.

“Everyone’s in the waiting area.” He said pointedly, hoping to encourage the visitors to leave.

“Sit down.” Scott’s mother ordered as she took in the sight of him. “You should still be at Deaton’s.”

“Hindsight, that would have been the better choice.” He wouldn’t have had to listen to Stiles talk down about their relationship if he had stayed at the vet's office. He also wouldn’t be rushing over to the wastebasket in the corner of the room to yak in it.

“You’re okay.” Melissa was at his side in a second, rubbing his back, not unlike the way Tig had done earlier. “The more you expel the less that remains in your system.”

“That’s comforting.” He panted, wiping saliva from his mouth.

“Have you seen Stiles?” John asked as Melissa led Juice to the chair she had previously been sitting in and practically shoved him into it.

“Unfortunately.” His eyes flashed blue, which only served to give his father-in-law a hint of his current mental state.

“We’ll leave you guys alone.” TO told them before he and Melissa disappeared from the room.

“What happened?” John questioned.

“Your son is an idiot.”

“Actually, he tested in the exceptional range as a child. He hides it so people will underestimate him. He takes far too much pleasure in how befuddled they become when he baffles them with his brilliance.” Juice was the one baffled by the apparent word vomit. For a second he thought John took offense on Stiles behalf for what he said, before he noticed the IV bags he was hooked up to.

“They’re giving you the good stuff.” He noted, slightly amused.

“Yeah.” A small smile graced the other man’s lips. “What did Stiles do?”

“He thinks I’m going to leave him for SAMCRO, since they know I’m alive now.” It was a ridiculous thought, but it was obviously something his husband had in his head for a while. “He said that I was only with him in Oregon because I couldn’t be with the club.”

“Is any of that true?”

“No.” He covered his face with his hands, fighting the urge to scream in irritation. “I don’t understand why he would even think that.”

“Then you are as much of an idiot as my son is.” Juice huffed indignantly at the assessment. “Do you want me to explain it to you?”

“Yes!” He threw his hands up in the air. “Please.”

“Stiles had years to watch the clubs dynamic. He saw how it sucked people in. He saw how easily _every_ member chose SAMCRO over their families.” He heavily stressed the word 'every'. “Not one of you chose to leave for your family-“

“I did.” He left his family with SAMCRO to make one with Stiles.

“Does he know that?”

“Yes.” Well, he did now. “I mean, I just told him.”

“Here’s a question,” John started. “At any point in your and Stiles relationship, pre-marriage, did you two discuss your place in the Sons of Anarchy? You knew Stiles wouldn’t move to Charming, so did you two talk about what would happen if your relationship got serious?”

“When we decided to be a couple,” When they decided they weren’t just fuck-buddies, and that there were feelings involved. “Stiles told me that he would never make me choose between him and the club. He repeated that when he asked me to marry him.”

“I’m sure he meant it. Keep in mind he said that before he had you to himself for five years, without the clubs interference.” He supposed that did change things a bit. “Also, he is not making you choose. He is under the assumption that there is no choice to be made, that it is a sure thing. You will return to SAMCRO. He and the boys will stay in Oregon. You would still be together, but it wouldn't be the same. He will have you anyway he can get you, even if it is in the form of a long distance relationship he won’t be satisfied with.”

“That’s dumb.” Stiles had already made up his mind about how things were going to be, and the bastard couldn’t be more wrong. “How do you know that?”

“He told me after you and Chibs reconnected. He saw the possibility of the club not being far behind.” So it had been sitting in the back of Stiles mind for years. “He was worried about you. He didn’t know if he could make you happy, if you could be happy without the club.”

“After all this time he hasn’t realized that I am happy with him?” Could he have missed something that big? “Have I-“

“You haven’t done anything wrong, son.” John was quick to reassure him. “Look, Stiles loves SAMCRO. He grew up with them as if they were his family. But that club has taken a lot from him. There is always going to be an underlying fear that it is going to take something else. Right now, he’s terrified that it’s going to take you.”

“Well, it’s not.” He loved the club, he always would, but that wasn’t his life anymore. “How do I make him see that?”

“There is nothing you can say that will get through that thick skull of stubbornness and self-deprecation.” Yeah, that was not what he wanted to hear. “The only you can do is stay, if that is what you want to do.”

“It is what I want to do.” Did John not believe he wanted to be with Stiles either? “Do you doubt me-“

“No.” He held up a hand to stave off the rant waiting on the tip of Juice tongue. “I don’t doubt that you love Stiles and want to be with him. I am, however, aware that you can change your mind. It would be easy for nostalgia to draw you back into the club.”

“Nothing could ever make me join SAMCRO again, and they wouldn’t have me.” It didn’t matter if they were on good terms or not. He would never choose to wear a kutte again. “I loved being a part of SAMCRO. I miss it, but I don’t miss what it did to me, or what it turned me into. I don’t want the club life back. I just want my brothers back, if I can have them.”

“In time, Stiles will understand that. You have to understand that right now he is scared and it’s making him irrational.” His was also hurt and on medication, which wasn’t helping things either. “It is going to take him some time to get used to the club being in your life again. He’s going to feel threatened by them for a while, but eventually he will see that they aren’t going to destroy the family you have built together.”

“Hey,” A swift knock of knuckles against the metal doorframe followed the greeting as Malia stuck her head into the room. “Stiles is trying to escape.”

“Of course he is.” He had been awake less than an hour and he was already ready to leave.

“Is he still in his room or is the pack accosting him in the waiting area?” John inquired, not looking at all surprised by his son’s antics.

“They’re accosting him in his room.”

“I’ll take care of it.” Juice sighed as he stood from his chair. “Thanks for the advice, Pop.”

“Anytime.”

“I’ll check on you in a bit.” He patted the older man’s leg before following the coyote out of the room.

By the time he made it the short distance to Stiles room he felt dead on his feet, his own injuries catching up with him. He barely pushed his way through the crowd of wolves and other supernatural creatures when a wave of dizziness hit him.

“Get out!” He demanded forcefully, and fuck, he was saying that a lot today. “That wasn’t a suggestion. Everyone out.”

He didn’t wait for them to comply before climbing into bed next to Stiles, much like he had done before their earlier squabble. He was extra mindful of the wires and IV’s the nurse had just reattached as he fit himself to his husband’s side.

“You and I are going to have a very long talk when we are feeling better.” An incredibly long talk about their relationship and Stiles apparent insecurities. “Preferably alone and out of hearing range of the pack.”

“Okay.” Stiles agreed, pulling the blanket up and around them.

“Here is what I need you to know now: I am never going to be a part of SAMCRO. I will be friends with them, but I will never be one of them.” Stiles didn’t relax, but he didn’t tense either, so he considered that a win. “I do not belong with them or in Queens with that family. I belong with you and our boys. You are stuck with me until one of us dies, though if I go first I plan to haunt your ass. Okay?”

“Okay.” His husband repeated but it came out almost like a sob. “I-I…”

“What?” He glanced up to take in Stiles devastated face.

“After you left, I asked the nurse to bring me the stuff I was brought in with. I wanted my ring. She told me they cut it off.” Tears spilled down his cheeks, and Juice had to wonder just how strong the painkillers he was given were to ellicit that kind of reaction over a piece of jewelry. “My hand was too swollen, so they had to cut it off. It’s in pieces.”

“I’ll get you a new one.” He reached out to touch Stiles casted hand as gently as possible, noticing the tan line around the finger his wedding ring previously lived on.

“I liked that one.” Any other time and he might thing Stiles was deliberately being difficult. Knowing Stiles, he probably looked at the remnants of the symbol of their marriage after their argument about the fragility of it, and took it as some sort of sign.

“I’ll figure something out.” The pieces of the ring should be with Stiles personal effects, maybe there was a way he could salvage it somehow. “I promise.”

“I’m sorry for being an asshole.” Stiles nuzzled his head against Juice’s. “It’s just…things are changing. I don’t like it.”

“I know. It’s a lot of shit getting thrown at us. It’s going to take time to adjust to all of it.” It was bound to cause some friction in their lives.

“I, uh, I took that job with the feds.” He sounded ashamed, like it was the worst thing he could have possibly done. “I had to, to get the Calaveras out of the way. The details aren’t worked out yet, but we might have to move back to California, once my hands all healed up. So, yeah, things are most definitely changing.”

“If we have to move then we have to move. Oregon is just a place.” Moving and switching jobs was something they both knew how to do. That would probably be the easiest change to adjust to. “This, you and me, that is the one thing that is not going to change. Tell me you believe that.”

“I believe it.” His heart didn’t call out a lie, and Juice felt the knot of stress loosen inside of him for the first time all day.

“Good.” They would still have to talk about all this, about everything Stiles had said earlier, but at least they seemed to be on the same page now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Chapter 11 Preview](http://stilinski-ortiz.tumblr.com/post/126051850584/son-shine-i-dont-scare-you-at-all-anymore-do)  
> [TUMBLR](http://www.stilinski-ortiz.tumblr.com/)  
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>  Thank you for all the comments and kudos, they are greatly appreciated.


	11. Standing Next to You Will Always Be Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd.  
> Title comes from A Day to Be Alone by One Less Reason.  
> Gif set [Scare You At All](http://stilinski-ortiz.tumblr.com/post/126051850584/son-shine-i-dont-scare-you-at-all-anymore-do)

“There’s a three bedroom on Birch Street.” Juice mentioned as he scrolled through the listing. “It’s about a hundred grand out of our price range.”

“Next.” Stiles grunted. They could afford to go a little out of their price range, but not that much.

“There’s a two bedroom on Woodbine-“

“No.” Woodbine was the same street he had lived on when his mom was alive. That place had some horrible memories. “It’s only a two bedroom. Would we really want to make Abel and Thomas share?”

“I shared with Felix growing up.” He shrugged. “We’ve been at this for days, Stiles. You have found a reason to hate every single one.”

“Have not.” He didn’t hate them. He just found reasons to say _no_.

“You do own multiple houses in Charming.” The older man mumbled under his breath, clearly annoyed at Stiles lack of cooperation.

“Keep scrolling.” Any response he had for Charming would not be nice, and would probably end in a fight. It was better if he kept his mouth shut.

He had other things to do that did not involve talking about the club or Charming for the hundredth time. Those other things being trying to stick a butter knife down his casted hand so he could scratch that fucking itch that had been bugging the shit out of him all morning. He almost had it to, if he could just slide the knife in a little further…

“What about this one on Forrest Hil- Goddamn it, Stiles!” Of fucking course Juice would choose that moment to look over his shoulder and see what Stiles was actually doing. “You are going to hurt yourself. Give me that.”

“He’s doing it to!” He pointed an accusing finger at his father who was in his recliner trying to get one of the fireplace pokers under the cast on his leg. “That can do way more damage than a butter knife. Yell at him!”

“It itches.” His dad complained as he tried uselessly to keep Juice from prying the poker from his hands.

“It’s supposed to itch.” The wolf snatched the knife away from Stiles after successfully retrieving the poker from John. “It means it’s healing.”

“It could heal faster.” Stiles grumbled, glancing around the living room for a new tool to help him find release.

“Yours would have healed in a couple of weeks if you hadn’t let the Calaveras bitch take a hammer to it.” Stiles had the good sense to be properly cowed by that.

“I didn’t really let her.” Cowed or not, he would still try to defend himself. _Try_ being the operative word there.

“You _let_ Argent take you, instead of waiting for the feds or calling on the pack-“

“Scott could’ve been killed if I had waited!”

“Derek told me what Argent said, remember? The Calaveras were waiting for everyone else to die before they cut Scott in half!” He really wanted to punch Derek for selling him out. “He would have been fine! You, on the other hand-“

“I know, okay?” They did not need to go over it _again_. “You don’t have to tell me-“

“Yes, I do, because you don’t understand how stupid that was!” Juice growled, leaning down from his standing position to get in to Stiles space. “I am going to keep reminding you what a pisspoor decision that was until it sinks in to your thick skull.”

“I don’t know why you are so pissed off about this.” He grumbled, crossing his as over his chest defensively.

“Really?” His dad snorted. “You’ve got no idea?”

“Well, yes, I get it.” He wasn’t a complete idiot. “But I am not the only one who could have been killed that night. My hand got smashed in. I wasn’t shot _twice_.”

“I didn’t jump in front of those bullets intentionally.” That was a fair point, but he probably would have if it meant saving someone else’s life. “You knew what the Calaveras were capable of. You put yourself at risk unnecessarily. You could have been killed!”

“I’m sorry.” He apologized weakly, hanging his head.

They had been stuck in two different arguments since Stiles had been released from the hospital. There was one involving the club, and then there was this one. Stiles did not win either of the arguments, no matter how many times they repeated them.

He had not expected Juice to be so angry about his actions when it came to protecting Scott. He was sure the wolf would be upset, but he never thought he would be so outraged by it. After Derek had ratted him out, Juice had done nothing but glare at him in complete silence for a solid thirty minutes, his eyes flickering from brown to blue, before he had gotten up and left the room. He didn’t come back until late in the night, while Stiles was half out of it from his medication.

He hadn’t brought it up again until Stiles had gotten out the hospital. Stiles had woken up from a fitful sleep and went looking for his painkillers, close to tears from how badly he was hurting. He had struggled for ten minutes trying to open the damn bottle before waking Juice up with a whine. Rather than simply giving him a pill, the older man had tossed the medication across the room and fucking _snapped_.

Very few people had been on the receiving end of Juice’s temper. Up until then, Stiles had only caught glimpses of it himself. He was pretty good at keeping himself in check, but everyone had a breaking point.

Juice had yelled, much like he was doing now, about how stupid Stiles was to walk into the hunters den without any back up or weapons. He had screamed about how easily Stiles could have ended up in the morgue instead of a hospital bed. His face had been twisted with rage but all Stiles could see was the fear underneath. Juice had lashed out because he was afraid. Stiles couldn’t do anything but sit back and let him rant, allow him the room to get it out of his system. It didn’t seem to be that simple, though. It was two weeks later, Juice was still mad, and nothing he said made it better.

“I’m sorry.” He repeated, knowing he sounded a bit like a broken record.

“I know, Stiles. I know you’re sorry.” The wolf didn’t seem inclined to believe him, but he deflated, letting some of the fight leave him. “I would tell you to never do it again, but we both know you couldn’t agree to that without lying.”

Yeah, they had that conversation too and it had ended in a compromise. The compromise being, the next time they were in a life or death situation with the pack, Stiles had to include everyone in on his plan. He was not allowed to go on any suicide missions unless it was a last resort, agreed upon by two or more members of the pack.

Stiles almost (read: _almost_ ) made a comment about how he and Juice should not be making decisions for the pack when, technically, they weren’t members of it. He was smart enough to keep his mouth zipped, knowing Juice would say something about how Stiles used to make decisions for the club when he wasn’t a part of it. That would set off a different argument.

Stiles current beef with the club was nearly as touchy of a subject as Juice believing Stiles had some sort of death wish. While Stiles could admit to his less than stellar decision making skills when it came to getting Scott back, he would not do the same when the club was brought up. He refused to be docile or meek, to let anyone make him feel like crap for his feelings toward SAMCRO.

He would go as far as owning up to overreacting at the hospital, but not a step further. He should not have gone off the way he had, but there was extenuating circumstances. He was less able to control his emotions while being given heavy doses of pain medications. He was also reeling from seeing Opie in his dream. Then there was the sheer terror that seized in his chest at the sight of Juice surrounded by club members. It had sent him back to the day he handed Juice over to them.

That panicked feeling hadn’t left him for a moment. It kept him up at night, given him nightmares. When questioned about what had him waking with a start every night, he would write it off. He would place blame on the Calaveras, and Juice would let it go easily, would remind Stiles that the hunters were gone.

“Stiles,” Juice said his name with a mixture of impatience and concern, as if he had been trying to capture his attention for some time now. “Where’d you go?”

“Forrest Hill Park.” He blurted out in lieu of the truth. “That was the road you were saying before? There’s a house for sale there?”

“The club then.” His husband muttered, calling Stiles out on his attempt at deflection.

“Can we talk about the house, please? We have a lot to do. The club can wait.” If they wanted everything done before the kids started school then they had to get a move on it. “Forrest Hill Park, right?”

“Yeah.” Juice pulled his laptop off the desk so he could sit down next to Stiles on the couch. He made sure to keep the fireplace poker and Stiles knife out of reach. “It has four bedrooms, an attic, and a full basement.”

“That’s out in the preserve.” It was on the same road Derek’s house had been on. “If we buy some security equipment, both high tech and supernatural, it could work. What’s the price look like?”

“It’s out of our price range but not by much.” Almost every house they had come across was out of their price range. “It could be a good investment.”

“Do you like it?” The wolf inside of him probably did. The prospect of having preserve to run in whenever he wanted was probably a contributing factor to Juice even mentioning it.

“The pictures look nice. I would have to see it in person to decide anything about it.” That was a good point. The photos on the listing could have been taken years ago. “I can make an appointment with the realtor. See if I can check it out this afternoon.”

“We should take the boys with us.” Abel and Thomas were not happy about moving, but perhaps taking a look at a new house, giving them a say, would help them get on board with the idea.

“I will, but if I’m going this afternoon then you can’t come.” That hurt, and it must have shown in his expression because Juice’s features softened. “You have a meeting in San Joaquin with Shaw, remember?”

“That’s today?” He thought he had another day or so before that meeting.

“Yes.”

“I thought he was waiting out your recovery?” His dad was rightfully confused, that had been the plan.

“I want to go over the specifics of what I will actually be doing.” He agreed to work for the feds. He did not agree to be their bitch, and he would make that clear at the meeting. “I wanna get that done before we head back to Oregon to pack up the house.”

“Speaking of Oregon,” His father sent them both questioning glances. “Have you made any real decisions about it, other than deciding to move? What are you going to do about the house and the garage?”

“The house is going up for sale.” They had no intention of moving back to Oregon, so there was no reason to keep it. “The garage is our only real source of income right now, and since it’s been closed the last two weeks it’s not making anything.”

“If we could manage it, I would hire someone to run it and then open another one here.” Juice explained, closing the lid to the laptop and setting it down on the coffee table. “The problem is, we can’t afford to put a down payment on a house, plus buy equipment for a new garage, and hire someone to run _Stilinski’s_.”

“We are going to close the garage in Oregon and open one here.” The shipping costs for all the equipment from _Stilinski’s_ was going to drain their savings. “I have a list of available spaces somewhere. I know I made one.”

“I have it.” Juice told him. “I found it taped to the bathroom mirror. I can’t read it, but I have it.”

“Oh.” He might have been really stoned when he put the list together, so it probably wasn't legible. “I’m sorry. I was trying to do something to help.”

“It’s okay.” His husband put a comforting hand on his knee. “You bookmarked some pages on the computer. We can work with those.”

“You can probably get a good deal on the garage on Maple. It went up for sale about six months ago.” His dad chimed in. “All you have to do is bring up that you witnessed one of the lifts crush one of their mechanics. That kind of thing should help lower the price.”

“What?” Juice furrowed his brows.

“The kanima fucked with the lift and ended up killing a mechanic paralyzed beneath it.” Technically, his jeep did the smooshing. “We should look into that, though.”

It was a bit morbid to run a garage where someone was murdered. Then again, the boys sat cross-legged on the floor in the same spot Wayne bled out so…

“I’ll put it on my list.” That list was ever growing. “Focusing on today, you know it’s the full moon tonight.”

“I’m aware. I know you'll be with the pack for part of the night, but the rest of it...” He cast a sideways glance to his father.

“Don’t worry. I’m staying at Melissa’s tonight.” The older man assured them.

“Oh really?” He and Juice said in unison.

“I know what you two get up to on a full moon.” Well, it wasn’t that hard to figure out.

“I doubt that.” Juice smirked.

“One date, which you didn’t actually make it to, and you are already having sleepovers. You’re moving pretty quick there, Pops.” Stiles clicked his tongue in mock disapproval. “Do we need to have a talk about safe-sex and protecting ones virtue?”

“I think protecting Melissa’s virtue is Scott’s job.” Juice noted.

“I was talking about his virtue, actually.” Whereas Melissa had dated since divorcing Rafael, his father had not since his mother’s death.

“Are you assuming he’s been celibate the last fifteen years?" He nodded, earning an incredulous look from his husband. “Oh, Stiles.”

“One,” His dad held up a finger. “I am sleeping in her guest room. Yes, we are going to have dinner together, but that will be it.”

“You’re staying the night.” It was kind of a big step.

“I am staying the night, so that I don’t have to listen to you two have sex.” They both went red at his father’s bluntness. “Two, even if Melissa and I were ready to take that step, you would not be able to say a damn thing. No one who gets married after being back together for half a night, gets to be judgmental about moving too fast in a relationship.”

“Touché.” They had no leg to stand on there. “You are going to Melissa’s. That just leaves the boys. I don’t feel right leaving them with you guys when you’re still recovering.”

“Noshiko and Ken volunteered to take them for the night. I told them you would drop them off before sundown.” On one hand, it was nice that it was figured out already. On the other hand, they would have liked that information before it was agreed upon. “Abel likes playing _Go_ with Ken. According to Thomas, Noshiko tells the best stories. They need some space. It's been tense around here. And you both need alone time to work out your issues. Talk it out. Have sex. Whatever.”

They both bowed their heads in shame. Neither of them liked fighting, they didn’t do it often, with each other at least, which made the times they did all that worse. They tried not to let it affect their lives outside of their relationship, but it was hard. The kids were picking up on it. His dad definitely saw something was wrong. Even the pack had caught on to their friction.

“It’s normal for couples to have disagreements.” His father said thoughtfully. “You have to work through it. Communicate. You are normally pretty good at it.”

“We obviously aren’t.” Juice protested bitterly. “If he believed all this time that I would go running to the club the moment I saw them again, and never thought to talk to me about it.”

“Juan Carlos,” His dad leveled his husband with a tight frown. “We discussed this.”

“You talked about this with my dad?” That should not have shocked him as much as it did.

“You talk about it with your dad, and not with me, when I started talking to Chibs again.” Juice pointed out. “He is the one who told me why you were so insecure.”

“Poor word choice, Juan Carlos.” His father shook his head.

“I am not insecure.” He was a lot of things, insecure was not one of them. “I am just well aware of how the club brainwashes people.”

“Brainwashes? It’s not a cult, Stiles.” If Juice believed that then it only furthered Stiles point. “No. You know what? This has nothing to do with the club. This is about me and you.”

“I should give you both some privacy,” His dad shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “But my crutches have been misplaced again.”

“You nearly broke your other leg trying to go up the stairs on those crutches the other day.” Juice was getting pretty good at that disappointed dad thing. It was downright hilarious to watch him use it on his dad. “Your ass is glued to that chair unless you need to use the bathroom, and then you will be supervised.”

“I don’t need to be supervised using the bathroom.” The older man spluttered.

“You need supervision using your crutches.” The wolf shot back. “So, I really hope that chair is comfortable, you won’t be leaving it for a while.”

“I don’t scare you at all anymore, do I?” His dad seemed somewhat saddened by that.

“Not really. Not since I listened to you belt out _What’s Up_ by 4 Non Blondes, while I was driving you home from the hospital.” Oh, it was the good sheriff’s turn to go crimson with embarrassment. “I always took you for more of an Otis Redding guy.”

“I am an Otis Redding guy.” He did a powerful rendition of _Sitting On the Dock of the Bay_. “ _What’s Up_ was one of Claudia’s favorite songs. And I was heavily medicated.”

“Sure.”

“Weren’t you two fighting?” His dad gestured between them. “Stiles is scared you’re going to leave him for the club, remember?”

“Right.” Juice shifted his gaze to him with an expectant look.

“Thanks, Dad.” He loved being thrown under the bus by his own father.

“Here to help, Son.” Yeah, well, that was very non-helpful. “Now, Juan Carlos, you were saying that Stiles’ fear has nothing to do with the club.”

“What are you, our mediator?” Stiles glared at his father.

“It doesn’t have anything to do with the club.” His husband reiterated his earlier statement. “This is a you and me problem. You are using the club as an excuse.”

“No, I am not.” It was not an excuse. It was the problem. “We would not be having this conversation if they- Why are we having this conversation? You said my fears were unfounded, and that you weren’t going anywhere. So, there is no problem.”

“The problem isn’t the possibility of my going somewhere. The problem is that you think that I would.” Juice clarified, looking equal parts irritated and heartbroken. “I fucking love you.”

“I know that!”

“Then why the hell would you think I would leave you for the club?”

“Opie loved Donna. Jax loved Tara. At one point or another, they both said they would leave the club to be with their families.” They were pulled back in. They never made good on the promises they made to their wives. “They died for the club instead.”

Juice died for the club too, for however long. He might be able to excuse Opie’s, say that he died so Jax could live. Jax, though, Jax was different. Jax dressed it up, made it seem like he was doing it for his kids, for his family. The truth was, Jax couldn’t leave SAMCRO. He could never be a civilian. That was why he didn’t fight the mayhem vote. He thought dying for the club could save it.

Jax and Opie hadn’t thought about their wives or children when they made those decisions. If they had, it didn’t stop them from choosing to die. Their families weren’t enough for them. Why would Stiles or the boys be enough for Juice? His connection to the club, like Jax and Opie’s, ran deep.

“I’m not Jax or Opie.” Juice told him, using a tone that suggested he was mildly offended by the comparison. “I chose you before I went to prison.”

“I didn’t know that, did I?” That was information he was only recently given. “You told me you didn’t know if you could leave SAMCRO. You went to jail for them. You _died_ for them, even after I made the deal to get you out alive.”

“If I had let your deal go through, I would have been on the run as soon as I got out. The club still would have wanted me dead-“

“The club didn’t want you dead, Jax did.” Juice’s mayhem had been handed down by the Mad King, not the court. “By the time you got out, he still would have been dead, and the club would know the truth. You would not have been on the run. You would have been fine.”

“I didn’t know that. I thought there had been a club vote.” Then they were both working on misinformation at the time. “Going through with your plan wouldn’t change anything. I would still be with you. I chose you before the club offered me a way back in. _I chose you_. Maybe I should have told you that sooner.”

“I know. I know that now.” Knowing it now did not erase five years of thinking he was only chosen because he was the only choice left. “Look, I never doubted that you loved me. I just wasn’t sure if it would be enough to keep you with me, when the pull of the club is so strong.”

“It’s enough.” Juice vowed with conviction heavy in his voice, as if he was pouring every ounce of himself into those words. “It’s more than enough, I promise.”

He took a moment to let that really sink in. He let it wash over him and bury itself into the crevices of his body, and into the furthest recesses of his mind. He needed that reassurance, to hear Juice say _those words_ in that way.

“I love you.” He choked around the lump of emotion that had formed in this throat.

“I know.” His husband said with a teasing grin.

“Do not Han Solo me right now. We are having a moment.” He chuckled at Juice’s ridiculousness.

“It’s still a moment. You Han Solo’d me the first time I told you I loved you.” True.

“Really, Stiles?” His dad scoffed.

“If you remember correctly,” He ignored his father’s presence and focused on his husband. “I said something to you first, that meant just as much.”

“You said you belonged to me.”

“Yes, I did.”

Juice had been fixing his croweater tattoo at the time. He was hungover, covering his eyes, and trying to keep his mind off the needle dancing over his skin. Juice had made a comment about how easy it would be to ink his name onto Stiles arm while he wasn’t paying attention. Stiles had shrugged it off, saying he wouldn’t mind. Juice told him if he did that then people might make the assumption that Stiles belonged to him or something. Stiles had taken off his sunglasses, looked him dead in the eyes, and said that he did. It wasn’t until his tattoo was finished that Juice had stopped him from standing from his chair and told him he loved him for the very first time.

“I can’t decide if that is disturbing or kind of cute,” His dad jested. “I’m very happy that you two are making up, but please, for the love of God, save the physical part of that for when the kids and I are out of the house.”

“We will.” Make up sex while others were present in the house was not in his plans for the day anyhow. “We have a lot to do anyway. I have my meeting with Shaw, and then I need to talk to Deaton.”

“Oh, you’re going to talk to him about…” Juice trailed off and tilted his head to the side, signaling that he was remembered why Stiles needed to see the vet, but didn’t know if his dad knew.

“Yep.” No, he had not spoken to his father about that yet. He didn’t want to worry him. “Since you are taking the kids with you to see the house, you are going to need the Volvo. Dad, can I use your truck?”

“Are you sure you’re up to driving?” He absolutely did not pull a face at the question. “It’s less about your arm, and more about the label on you pill bottles that warn against operating heavy machinery.”

“They do make you very loopy.” Juice was obviously taking his dad’s side. Traitor.

“Have you noticed my painfully sober state today?" Heavy on the _painful_. “I only took half a pain pill this morning, ‘cause I knew I had things to do. I’m good to drive.”

“You gonna be back in time for dinner? Chibs is coming over.” Color him surprised, that was the first he was hearing about it.

“I should be back by then.” His meetings shouldn’t take that long. “I should start getting dressed, so I can head out. “

“I’m going to give that realtor a call.” Juice informed him and then shot his father a warning look. “Do I need to tell you not to grab another fireplace poker?”

“I am not five.” His eyes did flicker toward the fireplace, as if he might grab for one just to spite Juice. It didn’t really matter, the pokers were too thick to actually get under his cast.

“Can you control yourself while you’re out, Stiles?” His husband rounded on him. “You aren’t going to crash the car trying to scratch that itch, right?”

“I’ll be good.”

* * *

 

Section Chief Cortese was professional bordering on a little frightening. McGarrett appeared a bit scatterbrained. Shaw was…whimsical.

His office was brightly colored with splashes of yellow and powder blue, rather than the usual brown and beige of federal offices. Instead of diplomas or newspaper clippings framed on the wall, there were children’s drawings. It was different from every other section chief’s office he had been in so far.

He was thrown off by it enough that he almost didn't notice District Attorney Tyne Patterson sitting in one of the chairs across from Shaw as he was brought in.

“Mr. Stilinski,” He might think she was happy to see him, if he wasn't smart enough to know she was only being polite. “It’s nice to see you again. How are you?”

“I’m fine.” His hand was killing him, but he would grin and bear it. “How are you?”

“I’m well.” She grimaced at his injury, but didn’t mention it. “How are the children?”

“They’re good.”

“And your husband?” She questioned in a clipped tone.

“He’s good too.” He dropped into an open chair and sent her an arrogant smile. He was not going to apologize for his Juice’s resurrection. “We just had our fifth wedding anniversary a few weeks back. I was in the hospital at the time, but he snuck me in a fancy dinner.”

“How nice.”

“I didn’t realize you would be attending this meeting.” He had requested a private meeting with Shaw. This was not private.

“You will be working to clean up San Joaquin and she is the DA.” Shaw spoke for the first time since he had arrived. “I thought it would be a good idea to have her present. However, I have to say, I expected this meeting to be held several weeks or months from now, when your hand was healed.”

“My hand it not going to fully heal. I’m never going to regain complete mobility in it.” It was more metal than bone at this point, with the number of pins and plates in it. He had a field day going through the metal detectors trying to get into this place. “There’s a lot of nerve and tendon damage. Couple that with my heart condition, which is actually causing more issues than it previously had, and it paints a pretty clear picture. Being a field agent isn’t in the cards for me, and you have no idea how much it pains me to say that.”

“We had an arrangement-“

“I’m not backing out. We hadn’t hashed out all the details yet, so that is what I am here to do.” The sooner they got that done, the sooner he could cross it off his list. “I want to help you clean up San Joaquin, so let’s discuss how I am going to do that.”

“I’ve read your file and, aside from assault on an informant, nothing about you stands out.” Patterson put in her two cents. “I would like to know why the FBI is recruiting you, when you have no qualifications.”

“Yeah, I don’t get it either.” He supposed it had something to do with his family history.

“You cannot be a field agent,” Shaw opened up a file, Stiles’ presumably, on his desk. “So, what do you have in mind, Mr. Stilinski?”

“I can work in a research capacity. I can go over evidence, case files, things like that.” It sounded boring and repetitive, but he was good at research. “Does that sound like something we can agree to?”

“Yes.” He would basically be an analyst.

“Here are my stipulations,” Now would come the part Shaw probably would not like. “I work from Beacon Hills. I can arrange to get a private office at the Sheriff’s station. I can come here to attend court, and to pick up or drop off case files. I will not, under any circumstances, work full time from San Joaquin. I am uprooting my family and moving back to California for this, but Beacon Hills is as far as I’ll go.”

“That sounds reasonable.”

“It does?” Huh, this was going better than he thought. He might as well go for broke. “There’s one more thing.”

“I’m listening.” Shaw motioned for him to continue.

“For safety purposes,” There was no way he was putting his family at risk if he could help it. “I would like Nathaniel Teller to work for you, not Mieczysław Stilinski.”

“If you swore under oath using the name Nathaniel Teller, you would be committing perjury.” Which was against the law, so that was a no-go.

“Nathaniel Teller is listed on record as an alias of Mieczysław Stilinski.” Patterson added. “The task force you are joining is investigating people who have access to that information. It would be pointless to use it.”

“Right.” His number one alias had been burned. That was fucking fantastic.

“We will do everything we can to ensure your family’s safety.” Yeah, well, everything wasn’t always enough. “I expect that you won’t be cleared for work by your doctor for a few more weeks?”

“Uh, I’m not sure.” He hadn’t thought to ask at his last appointment. He had other things on his mind. “I would like at least a month before I begin working for you. I need time to get settled into Beacon Hills.”

“Okay.” The section chief nodded. ”Would you like something to occupy your time? I have a cold case that I think you would be interested in.”

“A cold case?”

“It’s the unsolved murder of the Charming Chief of Police from 1985.” Shaw stood from his desk and picked up an evidence box from off the floor. “I’m only giving you this because of your personal connection to it. Something tells me that this box would be temporarily misappropriated by you, if and when you did decide to look into your family history. I thought it might be better if I just handed it over and saw what you could make of it.”

“ _Henry Stilinski._ ” He read the name off the tag.

“I came across the file when we were looking into you.” That must have been one hell of a background check. “I was surprised by how little was there. It was almost as if there was no investigation at all.”

“This is a conflict of interest.” His fingers itched to take the box, to hide away in a dark room until he solved the case, but they both knew he ethically couldn’t.

“It happened nearly thirty five years ago. There is hardly anything in the file. Most of the people involved are probably gone now. If you did find something, I doubt there would be anyone to prosecute.” Yeah, he supposed it would be hard to prosecute someone who was more than likely dead. “You are not getting paid for this. It is not a case that I am officially handing over to you. I’m giving this to you so you don’t have to steal it later.”

“I appreciate that.” He didn’t understand why this guy would just assume he would steal an evidence box. He wouldn’t do that. He was an upstanding member of society who followed the law. You could ask anyone. Except his dad. Do not ask his dad.

“You will not have resources from this office to work on this case, since it is a personal matter.” Yeah, he got that. This was just something to keep his skills up to snuff and his interest in the job piqued. “Do try and keep your husband’s hacking of government databases to a minimum. I doubt anything about that case is actually on any database, given how old it is.”

“I’ll do that.”

* * *

 

The house was bigger than he thought it would be. It was two stories, plus the attic and basement. There were four bedrooms and three baths. The study, attached garage, shed, and several acres of land were not mentioned in the listing but were nice additions. It was beautiful and almost within their price range, which raised some questions.

“What happened here?” He inquired as he took the realtor aside, leaving the boys in the oversized kitchen.

“Pardon me?”

“We both know this place is easily worth twice the asking price.” Maybe triple if it weren't for the minor repair work it needed. “Why the low price? Was someone murdered here? Several people, maybe? Tortured? Dismembered?”

“What was your name again?” She eyed him suspiciously, as if he were the one who committed heinous acts here.

“JC Stilinski. I’m the Sheriff’s son-in-law.” He tacked on that last bit only because she looked like she was going to call the police and run his name.

“You married to Stiles. That makes so much sense.” She laughed briskly. “That sounds like something he would ask.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“A number of years ago there was a horrible house fire down the road.” That would be the former Hale house. “The owners of this house got spooked and moved closer to town. The house has been on the market ever since. No one has even put an offer on it.”

“Who is the owner?” He probably should have asked that question sooner. “I don’t think you gave their name.”

“Robert Finstock.” Finstock, that sounded familiar. “He’s the coach at Beacon Hills High School.”

“Stiles is going to love that.” Stiles got dragged into a conversation with his former coach every time they saw him around town. “I still have to discuss this with my husband before I sign anything, but for now, let’s talk numbers.”

“The owners are firm on the price.”

“The appliances are out of date, the wiring needs to be checked, and the roof needs to be fixed.” He listed off a few things he had spotted during the walkthrough. “As you said, it’s been on the market well over ten years without an offer. I am sure we can find some wiggle room somewhere.”

“Let’s see if we can work something out.”

* * *

 

“Mr. Stilinski,” Deaton greeted him with a nod as he made his way into the examination room. “It’s nice to see you up and around.”

“It’s nice to be up and around.” And out of the house. Juice had kept he and his dad pretty much under lock and key since they were released from the hospital. “I wanted to thank you for helping Juice when he got hurt.”

“It’s part of the job.” He was unsure of Deaton was referring to his job as a vet or as the pack emissary. “He recovered well? No side effects?”

“He’s good.” Juice was working at full power after a week.

“You didn’t come here to express your gratitude.”

“No, I didn’t.” He was grateful, sure, but that was not why he was currently in the office. “I’m seeing dead people.”

“Right now?” He hoped Deaton’s calm demeanor was a good thing, but really it could go either way with him.

“No. Not right now.” He had yet to see the dead during his wakeful hours. “The last time it happened I was still under anesthesia from my surgery.”

“Powerful anesthetic can cause hallucinations.” He knew that, he had done his research before biting the bullet and darkening the vet’s doorstep. “This has happened before?”

“The time before this, I was sedated.” Again, it could be seen as a side effect of the medication he had been given. “The first time…it was while I was possessed. He came to me when I was in that coyote den, before Melissa found me.”

“You believe this is something the nogitsune left behind.” It was plausible that the spirit had left residual magic of some kind that was causing him to hallucinate. He wasn’t sure, that’s why he was there. “Who are the deceased that you are seeing?”

“My brothers.” To his surprise, shock and sympathy crossed over Deaton’s face, before it returned to its usual placid state. “I was willing to accept that it was a side effect of the anesthetic, but…”

“But?”

“This last time, my brother knew things he shouldn’t have been able to know.” A figment of his mind should only know what he knew. “My dead brother knew Juice was hurt, that he was shot with wolfsbane, and was laid up here. He told me that before anyone else did. How is that even possible?”

“I told you before that you were a spark.” He figured Deaton had only said that to give him some confidence when he was attempting to manipulate mountain ash. “Did you ever think about what that meant?”

“We both know I’m not a special snowflake, doc.” He was perfectly fine being human and non-magical. He preferred it actually.

“It does not mean you are a supernatural creature, or that you possess any real power. It means you are more open-minded than your average human.” What the hell did that matter? Lots of people were open-minded. “Any rational human would not have immediately made the jump to werewolves, when they learned their friend was bitten by a wild animal in the woods.”

“I said I wasn’t special. I never said I was rational.”

“Stiles, you are more open to the possibility of the supernatural world than most. Even more so than your werewolf friends, and they are part of that supernatural world.” It was a little disconcerting to hear him put it like that. “Spirits, especially ones you have a strong connection to, can linger. Most people do not pick up on it because they are not open to the possibility of it.”

“Why is it only when I’m under some kind of influence?” He was either drugged or possessed.

“Your mind was clear when you were under the anesthetic.” Clear was not exactly the word he would use. “It was able to focus on one single thing, which happened to be your brother. Considering your mind is usually moving in ten different directions at once, that singular focus was enough to call him to you.”

“What about while I was possessed?” His head had been too clouded by fear to focus on anything.

“You were confused. Scared. The need to feel safe, protected-“

“Are you a vet or my shrink?”

“I’m going to assume you felt safe with the brother that you saw that day. The need to feel that way, and the belief that having them there could help you, was so strong that it brought them to you.” Deaton annoyance with his interruption shined through in his tone. “It’s about open-mindedness, focus, and belief.”

“Okay.” It seemed too neatly put together for him, but he didn’t have another explanation.

“If you begin seeing visions of the dead while you are awake, I suggest you seek professional help.” He would have laughed but he didn’t think Deaton was joking.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

* * *

 

The kids were getting restless the longer they were strapped into the car, which didn’t bode well for their current stop.

“Hey, I need you both to be on your best behavior.” He told the boys as he pulled into a parking space.

“Where are we?” Thomas asked as he unbuckled himself.

“The jewelry store. See.” Abel pointed out the window. “Why are we here?”

“We’re picking something up for uncle Stiles.”

He climbed out of the car before releasing the child-locks and letting the boys out. He hoisted Thomas up on his hip, the kid was a runner when he saw something shiny and that could be problematic. It was better to keep him up and out of the way. He trusted Abel to stick by his side.

“Why are we getting Uncle something?”

“’Cause uncle Juice was mean to him.” The oldest boy answered before Juice could even get a word in.

“I was not.” He was the adult here, but he responded as petulantly as one of the kids would. “We had a disagreement.”

“You made him sad.” Nothing could make you feel more ashamed than a ten year old chastising you for your behavior.

“He made me sad.” Very mature, Juan Carlos. “It doesn’t matter. It’s all good now.”

“Because you’re buying him something?” Thomas questioned as Juice pushed open the door to the store.

“Lydia says you buy stuff for someone when they’re mad at you.” Abel told his brother. “It makes them feel better.”

“If someone is mad at you, you apologize, talk it out, and hope they forgive you.” He and Stiles needed to talk to the banshee about the nonsense she was filling the kids heads with.

“If you apologized and he forgave you then why are we here?”

“Uncle Stiles’ wedding ring is broken. I got him a new one.” He offered the man behind the counter a small smile as they approached. “Pick up for Stilinski.”

“I have that right here.” The jeweler reached back behind the display case and brought out a small box, opening it so Juice could see the contents. “As we talked about before, tungsten cannot be melted down, so the original ring was not salvageable.”

“Right.” It made him wish he and Stiles had gotten the customary gold bands instead, then he could at least tell Stiles they used pieces of his old ring. “This is the one I came up with?”

“The one you designed, yes.”

He had brought the pieces of Stiles ring in while he was still in the hospital, hoping to be able to use of it, only to be let down. He spent a good portion of the afternoon looking the men’s rings, trying to find a worthy replacement, and found nothing that popped out to him.

It was funny how much the original rings meant to them, considering they had not put much thought into them at the time. They bought them on the fly, choosing by price rather than style. This time was different. The price didn’t matter and none of the ones he saw seemed right for Stiles.

He was fully prepared to declare the mission a failure when the jeweler had stopped him. He was handed a pamphlet about designing a ring himself and a whole new world had opened up. He had spent hours poring over the information and creating a ring he thought would be perfect for his husband. The jeweler was confident it could be done and he believed him. He was an idiot.

“This is not the ring I designed.” The ring he was being shown was gorgeous, and Stiles would probably love it, but it was not even close to the one he had come up with.

“It’s not? Are you sure?” The man furrowed his brows in confusion.

“Yes.” He took a closer look anyway, checking the inside of the band. “The engraving isn’t even right.”

“Hold on,” The jeweler took the ring back and rifled through a drawer behind the counter. “Oh! I found the problem. There are two custom rings under the name Stilinski. This one must be for the other Mr. Stilinski. Just to be sure, give me your first name again.”

“Juan Carlos.” Two custom rings under Stilinski? It was a popular name, but he was pretty sure there were only five people who held it in this town. Three out of those five were currently standing in the store.

“This is your ring.” He was handed another small box. “I hope.”

“I hope so to.” He held his breath as he opened the container to reveal a new black tungsten ring. It held five stones, one for each year they had been married, and a silver inlay that surrounded them. What meant the most was the inscription on the inside. It had to be perfect, and from the looks of things, it was.

“How does it look?” The jeweler inquired nervously.

“Amazing.” He hoped Stiles felt the same way. He showed the kids to get their opinions. “Well?”

“I like it.”

“Me too!” Thomas echoed his big brother.

* * *

 

Stiles had been played. Juice, his father, and Chibs had all played him. That was the only explanation for why he was sitting at the dining room table across from Tig of all people.

“We are going to have a calm discussion, boys.” Chibs announced from the head of the table, where his dad usually sat. “No yelling. No snide comments.”

“He’s the one who gets bitchy when I’m in the room.” Tig remarked hotly.

“What did I just say?” The Scot scolded his VP.

“Is this some sort of intervention?” Stiles went off on Tig once, and maybe he hadn’t been the most welcoming to the club since they had reappeared in his husbands life, but nothing he had done warranted this. “If it is, we should wait for my dad and Juice to get back.”

“Your dad is already at Melissa’s. Juice is dropping the kids off with the Yukimura’s before meeting up with the pack for the moon.” Crap. He had forgotten about that. “It is just the three of us. You both are going to get over your bullshit _tonight_.”

“I’ve already been through one round of couples therapy today,” With his dad acting as the counselor. “I don’t need another one.”

“That’s too bad, because we are sitting here until you two work this shit out.”

“I’ve got nothing against Tig.” He did actually, but it stemmed from Donna’s death, and he had been taught by Jax long ago to push those feelings aside.

“His outburst was about the club, not me personally.” He and Tig were agreeing on something. That was progress. Maybe Chibs would let them go.

“In that case, you are going to be the voice of the club. Since I am close with both parties, I will be the moderator or whatever.” Having Chibs in the middle did make him feel better than having both the Sons against him. “Where should we start?”

“I was promised dinner.” That is the pretence in which Stiles was led there.

“I swear to God, kid, I will throttle you.” Not even ten minutes in and he was already getting on Chibs nerves. This was going to be easier than he thought. “Being difficult is only going to make this last longer. It’d be in your best interest to cooperate.”

“Juice and I went over this already. I don’t need to do it again.” He didn’t not want to talk about it with anyone else, let alone them. “Talk to him. He’ll tell you everything is fine.”

“Ah! _‘Fine_.’” Goddamn it. He was going to bitch slap Juice for ratting about his tell to Chibs. “Out with it, boy.”

“There is nothing to be out with.” It was a personal issue, not something that could be solved by talking. Only time could make it go away. “It’s my shit. I will deal with it.”

“Look, you and Juicy are moving back here. A two-hour drive is much more manageable than the eight-hour one it takes to get to Oregon. That means you are going to be seeing a lot more of me.” He was perfectly fine with that. They didn’t get to see Chibs as often as they liked. “And the club, since they know Juice is alive.”

“No.” He would shut that down right the hell now. “There will be no club.”

“Stiles,” Tig shook his head. “You can’t keep him from us.”

“I wasn’t planning to.” The misunderstood him in more ways than one if they thought he was that controlling or possessive. “The club ends at the city limits. No one _wearing a kutte_ comes into this town or into my home. Chibs, you have always followed that rule when you came to Oregon. The only thing I ask is that anyone else coming from Charming follows it as well.”

“We can do that.” Tig readily agreed. “That’s nothing, kid.”

“That is my rule for club shit. Here is my rule for something more personal,” This is the one they would kick up a fuss about. “I know you all have Jax smacked on some kind of pedestal. You’ve all martyred him. You treated him like a damn messiah before he died.”

“What’s your point?” Neither of them denied it.

“My kids are not a sounding board for your tales of what a good man you thought their daddy was.” He was not going to allow them to warp his kids mind. “Jax, Gemma, and anything to do with SAMCRO are off limits. Are we clear?”

“You know we’ve gone legit-“

“I don’t give a shit.” The club was something he had to find a way to explain to the kids. No one else got a say in that. “Those are my terms. Accept them, or go back to Charming and do not come back.”

The ‘my way or the highway’ stance was not one he usually took. However, in this situation it had to be done. He was more than lenient on things involving Juice and his former brothers, mainly because those were not his decisions to make. The kids were different. He had to protect them from the things they weren’t ready to know or understand. That meant he had to control the flow of information they received about Jax and the Sons of Anarchy.

“Well?” Chibs, who had long ago accepted those terms himself, looked to his VP for his confirmation.

“Yeah. Okay.” Tig nodded. “We’ll keep our kuttes off and our mouths shut.”

“Thank you.” That was all he wanted. “Oh, one more thing.”

“Christ, kid, what?”

“Only supervised visitation with Juice, until I feel comfortable leaving you guys alone with him.” He was pushing a limit, he knew that, but he didn’t trust them.

“Seriously?” The VP rolled his eyes. “Fine. Supervised visitation with little brother. Jesus.”

“Good.” He smiled and felt the tense set of his shoulders relax. “Now, as I said before, I was promised dinner.”

“I was too.” He and Tig both turned to Chibs expectantly.

“Order a pizza. I’ll pay.” Damn right the Pres would pay, since he had forced them into this.

“Only one. You guys can have a couple slices but then you have to go.” They had to be out of there before Juice came back. “I need this place cleared by the time the moon rises, so Juice and I can have some privacy.”

“He’s running with the pack tonight.” Chibs said for the second time that evening.

“He’s only staying part of the night.” He hadn’t let Scott bully him into staying out until the sun rose. “I give it an hour before he comes looking for me. We have a full moon routine and something tells me his wolf is going to be very cranky if we go off script.”

* * *

 

Looking back now, he could pinpoint the exact moment he had gone wrong. It was when he said _yes_ after Scott had pestered him for a good forty-five minutes about how important it was for him to join the pack on the full moon. He only said it to shut the kid up and now he was regretting it.

“This is what you do all night?” This being sitting in a circle out in the preserve, doing absolutely nothing. “Are we going to light a fire and sing kumbaya?”

“We usually talk.” The alpha told him, and boy did that sound like fun. “Everyone here is a shifter. We can all understand that part of each other.”

“We don’t do this.” Liam claimed, kicking up dirt with his foot. “We have never done this.”

“I thought it would be a good idea to start since the whole pack is back in town.” Scott stated. “Everyone is back from college. Stiles and Juice are moving back-“

“Still not part of your pack.” Scott could drop hints about it all he wanted, but it wasn’t going to happen. He was not going to accept anyone as his alpha. “I appreciate the offer, but no thanks.”

“Omegas go feral.” Kira revealed as if that were new information. “Deaton said wolves need packs.”

“Deaton also says that foxes and wolves don’t get along.” But she and Scott seemed to fit together perfectly. “I’m not an omega. Stiles, the kids, John, and Chibs are my pack.”

“It doesn’t have to be just them anymore.” Scott reasoned determinedly. “You can be part of a pack that has other shifters.”

“No, thank you.” He was trying to be nice about this, but the alpha was not making it easy. He knew why Scott wanted him in his pack, and it had more to do with Stiles than it had to do with him.

“Now you know how I felt when you refused join my pack.” Derek quipped in the alpha’s direction.

“He wouldn’t join your pack but you joined his?” He understood that Scott was a True Alpha, and that was huge in the supernatural community, but how he convinced Derek to follow his leadership was something Juice would never understand.

“I’m not part of his pack.” He felt better shooting Scott down knowing there was another wolf out there who wasn’t an official member as well.

“You’re not?” Scott was actually pouting in the other wolfs direction. “Derek…”

“Yeah. I’m out.” Juice declared as he stood up from the log he was seated on. “I’m going back to John’s house.”

"What? Why?” He wanted to be honest with Scott, tell him it was partially because he didn’t want to listen to his ‘join pack McCall’ pitch, but it would only upset him. “You said you would stay for a bit.”

“And I have.” If you counted the way over, he had been with them for twenty minutes. “Now, I am going to continue the night the way I do every other full moon.”

“Which is by doing what?” That was an awfully personal question.

“I go for a run.” He ran there, and he would have to run back, so that part of the evening was almost done. “Then I spend the rest of the night with Stiles.”

“Doing what?” He wasn’t sure if Scott was trying to be cute or if he was just that naive.

“Give him a minute, it’ll come to him.” Malia joked.

“See ya.” He wasn’t going to wait around for the alpha to understand what he meant.

* * *

 

He kicked Chibs and Tig out as soon as he was able, which happened to be not long after the sun had gone down and the moon had risen. They hadn’t gone without a little teasing first, all good naturedly of course. He let them rib him, laughed along, _haha_ , before physically shoving them out the door.

He took a few minutes to clean up the house, Juice’s habits rubbing off on him, before jumping in the shower. If he knew he had the time he would have soaked in the tub, let the warm water soothe his body. Unaware of how much time alone he actually had, he settled for a quick but thorough wash down.

He didn’t bother dressing when he was done. There was no point in it. He toweled himself off and walked naked to the bedroom, only to find it occupied.

“What?” He uttered breathlessly, and wondered belatedly how long he was under the damn water. It certainly couldn’t have been long enough for this…

His husband was laid out on the bed, just as bare as he was. There was a red flush from exertion painting his neck and chest. His eyes were glowing blue as they roamed over Stiles form. It was his hands that Stiles was caught on. One was loosely grasping his cock while the other had three fingers buried in his ass.

“Holy shit.” He grasped the base of his own dick, as if he would cum from that sight alone. “You’re supposed to do that to me. Or-or I’m supposed to do that to myself.”

They had learned early on that patience and a full moon did not mix. Out in the forest, they didn’t have to be quiet. He would wait until Juice was on his run, working his way deep into the woods, before he began. He started off slow, stripping himself down and working himself up. He would moan unabashedly, loud and throaty, knowing only the wolf could hear him. Juice would make his way back to him. He would stalk through the tree line, more animal than man, and mount Stiles right there on the forest floor.

This…this was something else entirely. This was his husband, on the bed, naked as the day he was born. The human side of him was at the forefront, the only wolf in him he could see was in his eyes.

“Come here.” Juice ordered in a husky voice that made him go a little weak in the knees.

Stiles was nothing if not obedient. He crawled onto the bed, settling between his husband’s spread legs. He sat back on his haunches, gaze drawn to the place where Juice was stretching himself open.

“What are you…?” He forced his eyes upward to meet his husband’s. “What are you doing?”

“What’s it look like?” Juice licked his lips and pulled his fingers free. “Cum inside?”

“Huh?” He asked dumbly.

“I want you,” The older man clasped a hand to the back of Stiles neck and brought him down to brush their lips together. “To fuck me.”

“What?” Fucking _what_? “You can’t just say that.”

When they first started sleeping together, there was no set top or bottom. It was whoever felt like being where. The last couple of years had been different, still good, but different. Juice would just have to forgive him for his shock.

“Fuck me,” The wolf wrapped his oiled fingers around Stiles dick, covering it with a generous amount of lube. “Come on.”

“A-are you sure?” He had to be sure. He wouldn’t do it if Juice wasn’t sure.

“Yes.” He hooked a leg around Stiles’ to bring him closer. “Do you want to?”

“Yeah. _Yes_. Uh,” He was a bit flustered by the turn of events, and was having some trouble putting simple thoughts together. “I’m not sure I can, uh, hold myself above you. With my hand and all.”

In a swift movement, Juice flipped them over. He ended up on his back while the wolf straddled is hips and gently pinned his arms to the mattress. He held himself over Stiles hard cock and looked down at him with nothing but lust written on his features.

“How's this? Better?” Juice nuzzled the side of his neck as if he were scent marking him.

“Mhm. Yes.” He felt like an awkward virgin again and was acting like it to. Fuck. “You can uh…you know, whenever you want to. Are you, uh, are you prepped enough? It’s been a while since you…and I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I’m good. You, however,” He released one of his hands to cup Stiles face. “Need to relax.”

“Not possible.” Relaxing, _letting go_ , would end this before it even started. “I’m trying really hard not to cum at just the sight of you right now, so…”

“Calm down,” Juice nipped at his chin with his fangs, the jolt taking him by surprise, but not enough to keep him from noticing his husband taking the head of his cock into his ass. “Just feel.”

“This is going to be over so quickly.” He moaned as the tight heat encased him, making him want to push up and shove himself all the way inside. “Jesus. Fuck. Don’t rip my throat out if I don’t last a minute.”

“You’ll last longer than a minute.” Juice had no room to talk, okay? He could talk to him when it had been years since he had been inside something that tight. “And if you don’t, I’ll flip you over and fuck you ‘til I cum.”

“That’s not helping.” It was a delicious promise though. “Just don’t bite me again or...or….”

“Don’t do this?” He sunk his teeth in to the side of Stiles pale throat as he thrust down, burying Stiles cock to the hilt inside of him.

“You son of a bitch…”

* * *

 

“I told you.” Juice huffed into his husband’s ear. “Longer than a minute, and I barely needed your hand on my cock to get off.”

“Don’t _I told you so_ me after sex.” Stiles complained while trying to catch his breath. “But, yeah, that was…”

“Yeah.” That was something else. Jesus. “Why are you so out of breath?”

“That was a lot of work.” He admitted and Juice took notice of the copious amount of sweat glistening off the body beneath him.

“You didn’t do anything. I rode you.” Stiles was down with an injury for a couple of weeks and he was already out of shape.

“There was kissing and caressing. There was thrusting!” That was true. Stiles did thrust up to meet him every time. “You’re just a wolf that’s forgotten what it’s like to only have a human amount of energy.”

“Sure.” He grinned at his husbands indignation.

He maneuvered himself off Stiles, grimacing when he felt cum slide out of his ass. He delayed the clean up in favor of collapsing onto the pillow beside his husband, turning his head to the side so he could spy the present he left on the bedside table.

“Got a question for you.”

“Okay.” Stiles rolled onto his side, curling up next to him with his head resting on Juice’s shoulder.

“Do you have a custom ring waiting to be picked up at the jewelry store on Seventh Street?” If it wasn’t Stiles, then John had some major explaining to do.

“I picked it up when I got back from San Joaquin this afternoon.” They must have just missed each other then. “How did you know about that?”

“I went to pick up your ring.” He took the box in his hands and removed the item as delicately as he could. ”They handed me the wrong one at first.”

“You saw it already? It was going to a surprise.” His own wedding ring was perfectly fine, still sitting where it belonged, so he had no clue why Stiles thought he needed a new one. “Our first rings were bought on a whim. I knew the replacement you got me would be special, I wanted you to have one that was special too.”

“I got this idea when I was picking up your ring.” He hadn’t thought on it long, but it felt right, so he figured he might as well run with it. “We should get married.”

“We are married.” Stiles remind him as he admired the new piece of jewelry Juice was holding.

“We should do it properly.” He clarified, slipping the ring on to Stiles finger.

“What wasn’t proper about it?” Stiles asked while linking their hands together. “We said our vows. We exchanged rings. We had witnesses. We have a marriage license.”

“Would you have married me if there hadn’t been a death sentence hanging over my head?” He knew Stiles hadn’t married him thinking it would stop Jax from having him executed, but the threat had a lot to do with it.

“No.” His husband answered truthfully. “I assumed we would be together, but that we didn’t need a piece of paper to show our commitment to each other.”

“I agree with you there.” Back then, it was easy to look at the two of them and see they were not the marrying type. “But now we already have the paper.”

“Exactly. We already have it.” They were already married. “What does _properly get married_ mean to you?”

“It means having more than your dad and Melissa at the ceremony.” John and Melissa had been the only witnesses at their courthouse nuptials. “I reconnected with my family. Both of my families. It would be nice to do it again with them there. To have it be a happy day instead of a sad one.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah. Let’s renew our vows. Next year, on our wedding anniversary.”

“Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next: Time for a wedding, featuring family secrets and unexpected (unwanted) guests.  
> [TUMBLR](http://www.stilinski-ortiz.tumblr.com/)  
> [Youtube](https://www.youtube.com/user/SandM1827/)  
> Thank you for all the comments and kudos, they are greatly appreciated.


	12. I'd Say So Much to You and I Would Tell the Truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd  
> Title comes from Dead in the Water by Ellie Goulding  
> Gif sets: [Your Fault!](http://stilinski-ortiz.tumblr.com/post/126622304574/son-shine-this-is-your-fault-crossed-lines), [The Truth](http://stilinski-ortiz.tumblr.com/post/126707638014/son-shine-i-want-the-truth-crossed-lines).  
> This is set about a year after the previous one.  
> This chapter was supposed to be a nice and fluffy wedding piece, but I also wanted Gemma to be there which meant there would be drama. So I decided there would be 13 chapters instead of 12. The fluffy one will be 13...I hope. As for this one...what's a wedding without some family drama?  
> 

**WAYNE UNSER**

**JOHN TELLER**

**CLAY MORROW**

**PINEY WINSTON**

Unser, Teller, Morrow, Winston. Those were the four names he kept coming back to. A year of work and that was all he had to show for it. It was pathetic, but it was more than anyone else had found in the last thirty-five years so he counted it as a win.

Shaw had been right when he said most of the people involved in the case were gone now. Most of the deputies who had worked under Henry were retired or dead. The men on his list of suspects were all six feet under. It certainly complicated the situation.

The file did not hold much, but it did contain a list of everyone employed by the Charming Police Department in 1985. Two of the names on the list still resided in Charming, but refused to speak with him when they recognized him as one of the kids who used to run around with the Sons of Anarchy.

There was an older woman who spoke to him for a few moments. She lived in a retirement home in Modesto, and had worked as a receptionist at the station at the time. She gushed when he told her that he was Henry’s grandson, but remained tightlipped when he tried to question her about the events surrounding his grandfather’s death.

The only other person he could get a hold of was the former District Attorney, who fled to Texas not longer after Henry’s death. He wouldn’t tell Stiles much, but had given him a starting point. He instructed him to look at Henry’s personal datebook, if it was available, to see whom he was meeting with before he died.

To his luck, his dad hadn’t had the heart to get rid of Henry’s things. It was all stashed away at a storage facility in Charming. He not only found the datebook, but also a journal. They both offered him an insight on his grandfather’s last few months. It led him to where he was now, staring at a list of SAMCRO members and one cop.

The journal documented Henry’s growing friction with the Sons of Anarchy. It expressed his concern that one of his deputies, Wayne Unser, might be working for the motorcycle club. The datebook was the most telling. It cataloged a series of meetings between Henry and SAMCRO, including one days before his death.

Unser made his suspect list because of his close ties to SAMCRO, to Clay and to Gemma. The distrust Henry felt for his deputy was something Stiles felt in the man’s presence for as long as he could remember. The fact that Wayne was elected Chief of Police after Henry was killed, only moved him further up on the list.

Clay was on the board for obvious reasons. The man had put out hits on old ladies and his own club members. It was not a stretch to think he would have a cop taken out.

John Teller was the Sons of Anarchy’s original President. He was the first to sit at the gavel. Around the time of Henry’s murder, in the mid-80s, Stiles was going to assume JT still had some control over his club. If the Sons were behind Henry’s death, then he had to have known about it.

It physically pained him to add Piney’s name to the list. He loved Piney. He saw him as another paternal figure or even a substitute grandfather. Piney had guided him and anchored him down. He had protected Stiles, not only from Sloan, but from losing himself to the chaos like others had.

Knowing all that, Stiles still couldn’t deny how deep inside the club Piney had once been. He was close to JT. He had sponsored Clay for fucksake. If they had a hand in his Henry’s death, then it was safe to say he knew beforehand or was informed of it soon after, if he was not an active participant.

The possibility of Piney being involved is what had him dragging his feet on the case. He had been working on it for almost a full year. He should have figured it out by now, but he didn’t know if he could handle another betrayal. If Piney helped end his grandfather’s life, then one more person he loved would be labeled _enemy_ in his head, and he could not deal with that. It was part of the reason he had not told his dad what he was working on. The last thing he wanted to do was to tell his dad that one of the people he trusted to look after Stiles as a child could have been an accomplice to his father’s murder.

He kept his mouth shut about the case. He got the key to the storage unit under the guise of wanting to know more about Henry. He had not outright asked his dad about the man. His father’s face hardened with grief whenever the name was mentioned and he hated causing his dad pain, so he refused to use him as a resource in this.

“There is one person you’re forgetting.” He startled at the voice behind him, nearly jumping out of his skin.

“Would you stop doing that?” The study, which Stiles had taken as his home office, was off in a quiet corner of the house. Since they moved in, one of Juice’s favorite pastimes was sneaking up on him while he was hibernating in there.

“I did knock this time.” The wolf claimed innocently.

“No you didn’t.” He was not _that_ zoned out on his work.

“No, I didn’t.” Juice grinned and nodded to the board. “You’re forgetting about Gemma.”

“I have a box of ancient security tapes from TM that show her in the office all day.” This wasn’t his first day. He made sure to check her alibi. “She’s lucky she’s such a pack rat and kept those tapes, or her name would be at the top of list, just because.”

“If you have the security footage, then you should know which Sons met with your grandfather.” If only it were that simple.

“The cameras are all pointed at the garage, not the clubhouse.” SAMCRO did not want any video proof of their nefarious activities. “The best I have is a _glimpse_ of his squad car pulling into the parking lot.”

“Then, _again_ , I am going to suggest Gemma.” Stiles would, _again_ , tell him that Gemma was already cleared. “Not as a suspect. As a witness. She’s the gatekeeper.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“She knows everything, Stiles.” Well, he wouldn’t say she knew _everything_ , but she knew more than enough to make her dangerous. “Nothing ever went down in the club without her knowing about it.”

“I already knew that.” Gemma was the goddamn puppeteer of the club. Of course, she knew their secrets. “She probably knows exactly what happened that day.”

“Yep.” Juice pinned him with an expectant look.

“What?”

“You want the truth about what happened to Henry.” Yes, he did. “She more than likely has the truth. You’re a smart guy. I’m sure you can see where this is going.”

“I can.” He could also see that his husband had lost his damn mind. “I would like to remind you that you are supposed to keep me from visiting her again, not push me at her.”

“I would like to remind _you_ , that I was there when your doctor said your blood pressure was dangerously high, and that you need to manage your stress better.” He pulled a face, making a mental note to bar Juice from accompanying him to the doctor from now on. “This case is stressing you out. You are too close to it. Too close to everyone involved in it. You either need to do something that you don’t want to do or drop it all together.”

“I don’t like either of those options.” At best he could take a step back, at least for the time being, but giving up the case completely or going to see mommy dearest, were not things he even wanted to consider. “I will drop it for now, because it’s a week for us. A happy week. No more work for me.”

He dropped his dry erase marker onto his desk and sidled over to his husband. He settled his hands on the older man’s hip and leaned in to brush their lips together. He felt one of Juice’s hands hike up the back of his shirt before massaging the soft skin of his back and further down, fingers dipping under the waistband of his boxers.

“We should go back to bed.” He mumbled against Juice’s lips as his fingers began working the button of his jeans. “Or maybe stay here.”

“Don’t be a tease.” Juice stilled his hand with his own. “We don’t have time.”

“We have all the time in the world. It’s _our_ week.” It was devoted to them. "It's just us. We can do whatever we want to do. And what I really want to do is blow you.”

“Our week, yes. Just us, no.” Yeah, that was just wishful thinking on his part. It was never just them. “As much as I would love to have you on your knees right now, I don’t think blowing your husband would be an acceptable excuse for why the boys show up late for camp. The customers waiting for me at the garage might not have a problem with it, but the camp administrators will.”

“I will tell the judgmental camp administrator that I stopped to get the boys ice cream, but sadly the ice cream place was out of ice cream.” Totally plausible at eight o’clock in the morning. “Or that I was stuck in traffic. That would probably sound better.”

“If we can get everything done _on time_ today,” Juice moved in closer, peppering kisses up his neck before whispering huskily into his ear. “Then tonight you can lick ice cream off me.”

“Oh.” That was a very tempting offer. He just had one small adjustment. “You know, we still have that chocolate sauce that hardens…”

“I’ll wear the ice cream. You wear the sauce.” Hot damn, he had a night to look forward to. “Deal?”

“Deal.”

* * *

 

He and Juice switched off taking and picking the kids up from camp. It was a day-to-day thing run by the community center, designed to keep children occupied over the summer while their parents were at work. Parents would drop their children off in the morning and pick them up late in the afternoon. They had different activities to suit a variety of interests. Abel had chosen science activities, while Thomas had gone with baseball.

“Okay, kids,” He grinned as he pulled into a parking spot. “Be nice to the other children. Make good choices and all that.”

“Do you have to say that every day?” Thomas griped. “We know.”

“At least he didn’t yell it out the window this time.” Abel grumbled as he unbuckled himself. “That was embarrassing.”

“You want embarrassing?” He could embarrass the shit out of these kids if he put any real effort into it. “Just wait until high school. I have a whole bunch of crap in my arsenal just waiting for that.”

He received matching bitchfaces for the comment and not even a goodbye as they hopped out of the car and made their way into the building. Stiles was about to leave, ready to head down to the garage to bug Juice or entice him to take a break, when his cellphone rang.

“Hello?” He greeted after bringing the phone up to his ear.

_“Mr. Stilinski. This is Dr. Fenrir from Eichen House.”_

“What did she do?” There were two possibilities. She either died or killed someone.

 _“Oh, no, she hasn’t done anything wrong.”_ Color him surprised. _“We are upgrading the security systems in some of our wards, and the one Ms. Madock is in is the first on our list.”_

“So, you’ll be moving her to another ward then?”

 _“Unfortunately, our high risk patients have taken all the available beds in the other wards. The displaced minimum security patients were sent to other facilities temporarily.”_ Then they were sending her to another facility. _“There is no official paper work on Ms. Madock, and how she came to be with us wasn’t necessarily legal, I cannot transfer her to another hospital.”_

“Where’s this going, doc?”

_“You will need to retrieve her and make other arrangements for the next few days."_

“You’re kidding me, right?” Gemma was a danger to others. As a doctor, Fenrir could not in good conscious allow her to check out, even for a short time.

 _“She has been a model patient during her stay here.”_ No, she was just a really good actress. _“She’s made great strides in therapy.”_

“I doubt that.”

 _“It is only temporary. You may return her bright and early Saturday morning.”_ Return her Saturday? It was only Wednesday. _“If you fail to comply, then I will be forced to release her to the authorities.”_

“Fine.” It’s not like he had a damn choice. “I’ll be there in half an hour.”

* * *

 

If Juice could put an age limit on his customers without getting sued for discrimination, he would. The old ladies in this town? Scary. They unashamedly watched him work, watched him very closely from the viewing window of the waiting area. And do not get him started on the sexual innuendos they made every time he went to speak with them about their vehicles.

“Mrs. Wolowitz, I heard that.” John’s voice broke through the garage as he came in from the reception area full of horny elderly woman. “That is my son-in-law you are talking about.”

“I was talking about you, Sheriff.” The woman chortled. “You are the one with a pinchable ass.”

“He’s in a committed relationship, Mrs. Wolowitz!” Juice attempted to save his father-in-law from further come-ons. “His ass is off the market!”

“So is yours but that doesn’t stop me!” A throaty laugh bellowed out, followed by the door slamming shut, thankfully with John on his side of it.

“Wasn’t she here last week getting her car fixed?”

“Yep.” Mrs. Wolowitz was in his garage every week. “She’s been hearing a rattling sound when she drives.”

“Is that bad?” He sometimes forgot Stiles learned everything he knew about cars from working at TM, not from his dad. John knew the very basics and not much more.

“It could be. In this case, it means her grandchildren shoved Legos in the heating vent. Or, she shoved them in there looking for a reason to bring her car in, and is just blaming it on the grandkids.” It was more than likely the latter. “Her car was done two hours ago, she just won’t leave.”

“Her son owns the garage across town.”

“Oh, I know. He came in to thank me a few months back. Apparently, she’d been sexually harassing one of his mechanics on a daily basis.” The younger Wolowitz wanted to express his gratitude for Juice taking his mother on as a customer. “But she leaves me fifty dollar tips, and I’ve gotten her to leave the tips in the jar on the counter instead of the waistband of my jeans, so I’m considering that progress.”

“Wow.” John shook his head and held out a travel mug. “I brought you some coffee.”

“Thanks.” He took the proffered cup while eyeing his father-in-law curiously. “Did we make plans to have coffee or…?”

“No.” Good, then he wasn’t forgetting anything. “I wanted to talk to you.”

“About?” He couldn’t think of anything off the top of his head that had happened recently to require a private discussion between the two of them.

“The boys.” That was usually a safe topic. “Thomas asked me something the other day, something he should have asked you and Stiles.”

“What was it?”

“He wanted to know why he and Abel couldn’t call you and Stiles dad.” John said as gently as possible, as if he were lessening the blow when delivering bad news. “I couldn’t think of a good time to bring it up. Dropping it on you at work probably wasn’t the best idea.”

“No, it’s fine.” However, he would have preferred to be in the comforts of his own home when hearing that. “Thomas hasn’t brought it up to us. I didn’t know it was something he was thinking about.”

“He talked to me after I saw him get into a squabble with one of his friends at the park on Sunday. They wanted to have a sleepover with him sometime this week, and he told them he couldn’t because his dads were getting married.” Both Abel and Thomas referred to them as their dads in the company of others, without actually calling them ‘dad’ individually. “The little boy made a comment about never having met Thomas’s dads. Thomas said yes he had, it was his uncle Stiles and Juice. The boy told Thomas that his uncles couldn’t be his dads too. They got into this huge argument about it.”

“He didn’t tell us that.”

“Thomas isn’t like Abel. He’s too young to remember Jax and Tara. All he has ever known is you and Stiles. He thinks _parents_ and it’s you and Stiles.” That was both sweet and incredibly sad. “He’s just confused as to why he can’t call you by the titles he’s already given you in his head. He thinks it’s because you guys don’t want him to.”

“That’s not true.” It was a complicated situation that they were waiting for the kids to bring up. They never wanted the boys to feel pressured into calling them anything other than uncle. “It’s a little strange, I guess. They are our sons. The thing is, I can remember when they were Jax and Tara’s, and it’s hard to…”

“Jax and Tara aren’t coming back. Thomas will never know them outside of pictures and stories. Abel might retain a few memories of them, but nothing more.” And didn’t that just break your damn heart. A child should know their mom and dad. “You have a picture of your biological father, when you look at it do you think _dad_?”

“It’s not the same thing.” It wasn’t anywhere near the same thing.

“Yes or no.”

“No. I don’t look at it, at him, and see my dad.” His stepdad, no matter how things turned out in the end, was his dad. That was who helped raise him, who he loved as a father for a long time. “But I never met him. Abel and Thomas-“

“Have had you and Stiles longer than they ever had Jax and Tara. Do not write off everything you and Stiles have done for those boys. They needed a stable and loving home. You and Stiles gave them that. You pushed back your own issues, your trauma, to care for two boys, when you had no obligation to do so.” John placed a steady hand on his shoulder. “You and Stiles are their parents. You have more than earned that title. If you are uncomfortable with being called dad, then you need to tell the kids why. But, please, do not deny it because you think you would be stepping on Jax or Tara’s toes.”

“I guess I have this irrational fear that if we let them call us that, then everything will change.” He might be a little frightened that Jax will crawl out of his grave just to kill him for thinking he had a right to take his sons. “The idea of being someone’s dad is terrifying.”

“You’re already someone’s dad. Two someone’s, actually. Title or not, you are.” Yeah, he was starting to understand that uncle was not the proper word to describe what he and Stiles were to those kids. “You and Stiles should talk about it, and then talk to the boys.”

“We will.” Maybe it was something they should have talked about a long time ago. “How did you and Claudia decide when or if it was okay for Stiles to call her mom?”

“Stiles took care of that himself, not long after Claudia and I got engaged. He asked her.” Of course he had, Stiles took control of situations even as a child. “Stiles wanted a mother and she had already started acting as such, so he decided when he was ready to refer to her as mom. He was barely four at the time and had only known Claudia a few months. Thomas is seven and has known you his entire life.”

“We were always worried about them not really understanding what it meant, or maybe they would feel like we were replacing Jax and Tara.” It was different with each boy. One remembered having another set of parents, while the other didn’t. “We’ll talk to them. Make sure they understand and decide from there.”

“Would you let them call you dad?”

“I would.” It scared the hell out of him, but he would. “You know, Thomas actually called Stiles dad once before. Stiles had a minor freak out about it.”

“When was this?”

“He was just a baby at the time.” Thomas was a late bloomer, he didn't start talking until he was over a year old. “It wasn’t long after we moved to Oregon.”

“Jax had only been gone a few months. It would have held a lot of weight in how Stiles took that.” It probably felt like a knife going straight through Stiles heart to hear the baby say it to him, when months prior he would have been saying it to Jax. “Things have changed. A lot of time has passed. He may have a different reaction now.”

“Maybe.” He hoped he did or it might have some serious emotional consequences for the boys.

“Hold on a second. Damn phones vibrating. ” John removed the device from his jacket pocket and unlocked the screen. “I’ve got an SOS text from Stiles telling me to meet him at your house ASAP.”

“Huh.” He pulled out his own phone to check his messages. “I’ve got the same one.”

* * *

 

This week was supposed to be a good week. It was going to be about love, happiness, and family. It was going to be special. Now, thanks to one call, it was in the toilet.

Instead of preparing for people to arrive or handling a few last minute things, he was drinking whiskey straight from the bottle in the middle the morning. It wasn’t even noon and he was sitting at the kitchen island hoping this was all a hallucination or praying for a quick death if it wasn’t.

“Getting drunk in the middle of the day,” Stiles just about fell off the stool he was so surprised to hear his husband’s voice boom through the kitchen. “Is rehab in your future?”

“No.” He did not make a habit of being intoxicated. “The looney bin might be.”

“What’s going on, Son?” Oh, look his dad was there to.

“Satan is in the downstairs bathroom taking a shower.” He waved his hand in the general direction of the bathroom. “She made me stop to buy her clothes, make-up, and hair products, before I brought her back here. She didn’t want to walk around looking like a mental patient.”

“What?”

“Okay! She didn’t make me! I was so fucking shell-shocked that I just did it!” He wasn’t in his right mind when he picked her up. He could easily plead temporary insanity.

“Stiles, what the hell are you talking about?” Juice snatched the whiskey away from him.

“Eichen House called.” He made a halfhearted grab for the bottle, but it was held out of his reach. “They’re updating security systems. All available beds in other wards were given to high priority patients.”

“No! No. No. No.” Juice shook his head exaggeratedly and pointed a finger toward the sound of running water. “Please tell me that isn’t who I think it is.”

“Can’t.” He really wished he could. “Didn’t have a choice. It was either I pick her up or they turn her over to the cops. Hindsight, Dad could have thrown her in a cell, but he couldn’t be there all the time. Parrish or one of the other deputies would have let her out if she flashed them a smile.”

“I could throw _who_ in a cell?” His father asked and Stiles shot a panicked look to his husband.

“Oh no. This is a _you_ thing.” He was being thrown under the bus by his own husband. How rude. “I had nothing to do with it.”

“Traitor.” He glared halfheartedly then turned to his dad. “Gemma, Pops. Gemma is in the bathroom.”

“Gemma?” The older man’s eyebrows made a valiant effort to crawl off his forehead. “Gemma is dead, Son.”

“I couldn’t let Jax kill her, okay? There was this whole thing about Abel feeling guilty later in life, and I couldn’t let that happen.” He didn’t have the brain capacity to rehash his full reasoning at the moment. “Jax and I made it look like she was dead, and then I locked her up in Eichen House.”

“Tell me he’s joking.” His dad demanded Juice.

“I’ve only known for a year.” Juice acknowledged defensively, obviously not wanting to be on the receiving end of the Stilinski temper. “I had absolutely nothing to do with it.”

“Are you kidding me? This is your fault!” Stiles shot back, remembering that Juice was the one who refused to let Roosevelt take Gemma in to begin with.

“It is not!” His husband denied vehemently. “You are the one who stepped in front of a gun for her. _Twice_.”

Okay. That was true. He kept Juice from killing her out on the highway. Then he stopped his brother from putting a bullet through her head at Nate’s house.

“You’re right. I’m sorry. This is not your fault. ” He apologized sincerely before rounding on his father. “This is your fault!”

“How could this possibly be my fault?” That was a fabulous question. He was so glad his dad asked.

“You instilled some sort of moral code in me!” He taught him right from wrong and all that crap that good people did. “I never would have let her live if you hadn’t done that!”

“You bastard.” Juice drawled sarcastically to his father.

“I’m ashamed.” His father quipped with an eye roll. “Let’s be real, Stiles, you are morally ambiguous as best.”

“Hey! I have a very strong sense of morals!” He did try to live by a certain standard of morals. ”Mine are just a little more lenient than yours.”

“That’s putting it lightly.” His dad scrubbed a hand down his face just as the unmistakable thud of heels on tiled floor clacked into the kitchen. “Oh god. I was hoping you were playing a joke or had lost your mind. Again.”

“I wish.” By the time Gemma was back in Eichen House, he may very well be in a room next to her.

“Hey.” She smiled as if they had all seen each other the day before.

“Give me the bottle.” His dad reached for the whiskey in Juice’s hands.

“You’re still on duty. I’ll drink for you.” His husband took a long swig before replacing the lid and setting the bottle on top of the fridge.

“Hi, sweetheart.” Gemma wrapped her arms around Juice and kissed his cheek. “You look good, baby. Healthy.”

“All that clean living.” The wolf made quick work of extracting himself from the matriarchs embrace, taking several step away until he backed himself into the stove.

“Oh! I figured out how this is your fault!” He pointed an accusing finger at his husband. “You fucking jinxed us!”

“How?”

"This morning, not forty-five minutes before I got that call, you said I should talk to her about…about the thing!” You do not make idiotic suggestions like that in his town. “Why the hell did you do that this week of all weeks?”

“What’s this week?” Gemma questioned.

“Shut up!” He snapped at her.

“Jinxed or not, she’s here.” Juice stated the obvious. “So, uh, why not do what I suggested earlier?”

“She would never help without getting something in return.” He wasn’t ready to pay her price, whatever it may be. “She’s already free. _Temporarily._ What the hell else do I have to give her?”

“My grandchildren.”

“No!” The three men yelled, putting the kibosh on that straight away.

“They are my grandsons.” She moved to it on the stool next to Stiles, who shuddered at her closeness. “You could at least tell me what you want my help with.”

“Absolutely not.” Hadn’t they just been over this? “You will want something. You always want something. I don’t have anything that I would be willing to give you.”

“Maybe the clothes and make-up, and being able to take a shower without Nurse Ratched watching, has me feeling charitable.”

“What are we, new? We know how you work, Gemma.” Juice shook his head at her and snuck a hand around Stiles elbow. “Sidebar?”

“Sure.” He allowed his husband to pull him off his chair and lead him to the corner, leaving his dad and Gemma to glower at each other. “What?”

“We have something to give her.” No, they did not.

“Can I just…” Most of the time he and Juice were on the same wavelength. This was not one of those times. “Why is my finding out what happened to Henry so important to you?”

“Because it’s important to you.” Corny, sweet, stupid bastard. “The only person _alive_ that can give you any answers is her.”

“I can live without answers.”

“No you can’t, not without it driving you mad.” He was probably right. It would end up sitting in the back of his mind until he solved it or it drove him crazy, whichever came first. “How long is she here?”

“I take her back Saturday morning.” He had no clue what he was going to do with her until then. “What’s your idea?”

“We can’t exactly lock her in the basement for a couple days, and we can’t keep Abel and Thomas out of the house that long.” They were going to have to find a way to explain Gemma to the kids sooner rather than later. “The wedding is on Friday, and it’s going to be kind of hard to keep that from her with all the preparations going on. She’s gonna to know something’s up when my family and the club show up.”

“I can see where this is going.” And he didn’t like it. He did not like it at all. “The answer is no.”

“If we leverage the boys, which we won’t, she would expect us to make them spend time with her, and that is not going to happen.” Damn right it wasn’t. “So, what if we offered her something else she’s going to worm her way into anyway?”

“You would willingly subject your family to her?”

“You don’t trust your dad’s deputies to watch her at the station. While I’m sure we can find somewhere to lock her up, I don’t think that will work in the long run.” Oh please, they had plenty of secure places to keep her if they looked hard enough. “Might as well make use of her.”

“Crap. Fine.” He couldn’t deny the logic in that.

“Okay.” They reluctantly turned their focus back to the older woman. “Gemma, we have a proposition for you.”

“I’m listening.” She folded her hands in front of herself.

“You give Stiles some answers to a question he has, while John and I listen in-“

“Huh?” He gave Juice a quizzical look.

“It’s your dad’s history too.” Yeah, well, he had tried to keep him out of It. “And I’m a not-so-human lie detector.”

“Fine.” Having someone who could tell if she was being truthful would be an advantage.

“You give Stiles his answers, Gem,” Juice repeated. “And you can be a guest at our wedding vow renewal ceremony on Friday. Full disclosure, the only other option you have is to spend your days of freedom locked in the shed out back.”

“We live in the middle of the woods. We are the only house for miles. No one will hear your cries or screams for help.” Stiles would willfully ignore how much he sounded like a psychopath. Gemma just brought out certain qualities in him. “Choose wisely.”

“As much as I would love to see my youngest son get married,” He absolutely did not flinch at her name for him. Though his eye may have violently twitched. “I would like to know what answers I’m supposed to be giving.”

“When I came to see you last year-“ Stiles started, only to be cut off.

“You went to see her last year?”

“Not now, Dad.” He would definitely have to explain that later without bringing up Zobelle or what happened with Scott’s dad. He had somehow managed to go this long without anyone mentioning it. “I came to see you last year, you dropped some hints to get me to come back. You said I would come to you when I found the connection.”

“This is about Henry.” She deduced and spared a glance at his father who did not seem fazed by that information all.

“You knew I was investigating Henry’s death.” He had to have known, that was the only reason for the less than stunned expression on his face. “How?”

“You’ve never asked me about him until recently.” He never asked because he knew how much his grandfather’s death hurt his father. He didn’t want to be the one to open that wound. “Also, I took a peek inside your study a couple months ago and saw your murder board.”

“What do you say, Gemma?” Juice questioned the matriarch.

“What exactly do you want to know about Henry?” It was a stupid question for her to ask. There was only one thing she could tell him about Henry that his father could not.

“You know what it is.” She was the one who brought it up in the first place when he visited her at Eichen House. “I want the truth. I know you are the only one who can give it to me.”

“The truth about your grandfather’s death?” She gave him a thoughtful look. “Or the truth about you?”

“What…?” He sent a fleeting look to his father, who took a few cautionary steps toward him. “What does that mean?”

“I can’t give you one truth without revealing the other, baby.”

“I was born eleven years after Henry was killed.” It wasn’t possible for there to be any connection between them but blood.

“Do we really want to do this now?” Juice inquired hesitantly.

“The rest of the week is jam packed.” Tomorrow, they had people from out of town coming in, so the timing wasn’t optimal. The day after that was their ceremony, and they were not going to taint that. It had to be today. “The kids are out of the house. We should just get it done now.”

“Alright. You wanna do this here, the study, or the living room?”

“Study.” That way he would have his murder board to work with. “Let’s go.”

The study was a straight shot from the kitchen. It was the furthest room down the hall. He liked it there. Outside of his and Juice’s bedroom, it was his favorite room in the house. There was a large window on one side, offering a great view of the preserve, which is where he kept his desk, so he could benefit from the natural light. The ‘murder board’ was sitting in front of the built in bookshelves, and there was a couch pushed against the opposite wall.

Gemma took the couch for herself when they entered the room. His dad took his office chair while Juice sat on top of the desk, neither of them wanting to share the same space with the woman. Stiles chose to stand, placing himself strategically in front of the board so his father wouldn’t have to see the crime scene photos taped to it.

“Okay, Gem, start talking.” The floor was hers. “I already know that all roads lead back to SAMCRO and your good pal Unser.”

“You're on the right track.” She noted the names on the written on the board, still visible over his shoulder. “You want the full truth then you’re going to have to sit through some history.”

“Awesome.” Just what he wanted, a history lesson.

“You know that your daddy and my brother Nathaniel were best friends. Well, it was the same with Henry and my dad.” Considering the Madock’s and the Stilinski’s were next door neighbors in Charming, that wasn’t much of a surprise. “I had known your grandfather my entire life. He was a good man.”

“Your praise only makes you seem more suspicious.” She generally didn’t say nice things about people unless she had something waiting on her tongue to contradict it.

“When the club came to Charming, he didn’t judge them by the kuttes they were wearing. He didn’t think they were bad guys or criminals based on the fact that they were in a motorcycle club.” Well, maybe he should have. “That changed when the club started running guns.”

“He didn’t want the trouble and the danger that came with it.” His father explained, and shit, maybe Stiles should have talked to his dad about all of it first.

“The club thought they could turn him around, make him see how he could profit from the arrangement.” The Sons tried to bribe Henry into working with them. “He turned them down.”

“My father was a good cop. He was not going to be swayed by money or threats.” He dad retorted hotly.

“SAMCRO knew the only way they could safely run guns through Charming was if they had the Chief of Police on their side. When they realized Henry was never going to be, they decided it was time for a new Chief.” That was where Unser came in. “Henry was loved in Charming. Admired. Respected. The town was not going to vote in Wayne over him in an election.”

“They had two options,” Stiles theorized. “Make him out to be a dirty cop or kill him. No one would believe he was on the take, so that only left option two.”

“I think Henry knew something would happen. He stopped agreeing to meet with the club when they requested a face-to-face. JT came to me one night, asked me to contact Henry. He wanted me to set up a time to talk, just the two of us. He told me to tell him it was about my dad.” She tricked Henry, used his best friend to lead him right into SAMCRO’s crosshairs. “I was told they were only going to talk to him. I didn’t know what they were going to do.”

He looked to Juice, head titled to the side, silently begging for a signal that she was lying or not. His husband nodded, confirming that she was telling the truth so far. He motioned for her to continue, while eyeing his father in his peripheral vision.

“He showed up at TM to speak with me and the club met him in the parking lot.“

“Which members of the club?” He had a list of active club members for that time period, most were dead now. In fact, he was pretty sure Lenny Janowitz was the only one still kicking. “I know every member of the First 9 was alive back then, but McGee had fucked off back to Belfast already, so who else was there?”

“A lot of the members liked Henry. They never would have voted Mayhem. JT and Clay decided to keep the meeting private, only a few trusted members who knew how to keep their mouths shut.” It was good to know the father was just as secretive as the son. Jax and JT weren’t that different when it came to the club. “It was just the two of them and Wayne.”

“Not Piney?” JT didn’t consider his best friend trustworthy?

“Piney and your grandfather were friends.” His dad chimed in. “They got along pretty well. From what I remember, Piney didn’t want the Sons to pipeline guns through Charming anymore than my dad did. They had a common ground there.”

“Piney wouldn’t have sanctioned your grandfather’s execution.” This time he did flinch at Gemma’s word choice, and saw his father do the same.

“What did they do to him?” He knew the cause of death, multiple gunshot wounds to the back. It was cowardly. They couldn’t even look him in the eye when they ended his life.

“I wasn’t in the chapel with them. I was in the office with Jax and Thomas.” Jax would have been seven at the time and Thomas only a year old. They probably spent a good portion of their time with at TM with her. “I watched Henry walk into the clubhouse with JT and Clay. He never walked back out.”

“His body was found off county road fifteen, next to his patrol car, at 9pm that night.” His father recalled from memory, rather than reading it in a file like Stiles had. “It looked like a routine traffic stop gone bad.”

“Wayne is the one who called it in.” It was one of the things that stood out to him while he was going over the file. It was awfully convenient for Unser to be the one to find the body and write up the report. “Who pulled the trigger, Gemma? Don’t tell me you don’t know, because we both know you do.”

“After they found Henry’s body, I told JT to give me the truth or I would take the boys and leave.” That was one hell of a threat to level JT with, but Stiles doubted she would have followed through. She never would have taken her children away from their father. “He told me that he was the one who did it. John Teller killed your grandfather.”

He glanced at his dad to check his reaction. He didn’t know what to expect. Relief for finally having the truth. Regret for letting Stiles anywhere near the club that had killed his father. Or anger at Gemma for putting Henry in the clubs path. The only thing he saw was sorrow and acceptance.

“You said Henry’s death is connected to Stiles.” Juice moved the conversation along. “How?”

“Up until the gun running, SAMCRO was just a motorcycle club. There was no violence. There was nothing to cover-up. Everything changed after JT killed Henry.” She sighed sadly. “I learned what it meant to be an old lady because of that. I learned what I had to do and which lines I was willing to cross to keep my family safe.”

“You’re pulling at my heart strings, Gem.” Stiles muttered under his breath. “I almost think you feel guilty about setting up that meet.”

“I do feel guilty. It is one of the few things in my life that I wish I could take back.” He was thrown by the statement, by the conviction behind it. He had never before heard Gemma say she had regrets about anything. “That guilt is why….”

“Why what?” Stiles was the one who asked the question, but it was his dad she spoke to when she answered.

“It was why after we slept together and I found out I was pregnant, that I told you he could be yours. It was _one_ of the reasons I told you.” She was confessing to his father, not to him, and it made him feel a little like an outsider in all of this now. “It was the main reason I gave him to you.”

 _Guilt._ Guilt was the reason she didn’t want custody of him. The sad part of that was that it almost made sense. Stiles could actually work out how she got from Point A to Point B. She helped take the father so she had given a son as penance.

“Did you think it balanced the scales, Gemma?” She had given Stiles to his dad as if he could make up for the loss of his grandfather. “It doesn’t change a damn thing. It doesn’t make it right.”

“I’m not done.” She declared somberly.

“What else could there possibly be?” He was already on an information overload and he didn’t know if he could take much more.

“Clay went to jail days before you and I slept together, Johnny. When I found out I was pregnant, I was sure the baby was his. I didn’t even entertain the idea of it being yours until you showed up at TM a few months later to apologize for our one night stand.” She chuckled darkly. “It was the anniversary of your father’s death. You went to visit his grave, and then you stopped in to see me before you left town again. I took that for what it was.”

“And what was that?” His dad asked her. “Some sort of cosmic sign that he could be mine?”

“A sign that he _had_ to be yours. “ Her eyes flickered between Stiles and his father before fixing on a spot on the floor. “Whether biology said he was or not.”

“Oh my god.” Stiles covered his face with his hands as his breathing became labored.

“There was a paternity test.” His father said calmly, not the least bit perturbed by what Gemma just implied.

“I paid off the technician at the hospital to make sure the results read that you were the father, no matter what the results actually were.” Gemma admitted tightly. “I never asked what the truth was. I didn’t want to know. It didn’t matter if it was yours or Clays blood running through his veins. As far as I was concerned, he was yours.”

Bile rose in Stiles throat at the mere possibility of Clay Morrow’s DNA making up half of his. He rushed over to the trash bin beside his desk, emptying the contents of his stomach into it. Juice was at his side in a second, placing a comforting hand on his back.

“Do you think I’m an idiot, Gemma?” His dad scoffed at her, seemingly unaffected by the new information. “I had a second test done at Beacon Hills Memorial when I brought him home. He is mine in every sense of the word. By bond and biology. He’s my kid.”

“Hey, hey,” Juice kept his tone soft. “Did you hear that? Your dad double-checked. You’re his.”

“What?” He wiped his mouth. “I don’t have the blood of two devils inside of me?”

“Only one.” His dad reassured him. “I promise.”

“Thank God.” That was best news he had heard in his entire life.

“You wanted the truth and now you have it.” Gemma stood from the couch. “Now what?”

He was a little put off, shaken by everything he had been told, and she was more than likely banking on that so she could gain the upperhand. If her truth was clouding his mind, then she could use his diverted attention to plan her escape. She obviously didn’t know him very well if she thought it would be that easy.

“Dad, can you get an ankle monitor for her?” As much as he would love to chain her up in the shed, it just wasn’t a realistic option.

“Yes.” His father agreed.

“You’ll sleep in the attic.” It had been converted into a playroom for the kids, but they could smack an air mattress in there and call it Motel 6 for her.

“This place doesn’t have a guest room?” She objected to being sent to what she probably thought was a dusty old place.

“It does.” Juice told her. “My mom will be staying in there.”

Some of their out of town guests were taking up residence in their home for a few days. While Juice’s brother Ray and his wife Roxanne were getting a hotel room in town, the others were crashing with them. Marianna and Marisol said they would share with their mother. Felix volunteered to take the couch in the living room. Chibs had claimed the basement, which they had converted into a second guest room, even though he only lived two hours away.

“Oh really?” Gemma clucked her tongue, a wry glint in her eyes. “That must have been one hell of a visit last year.”

“Gemma, I swear to you, if you are not on your best behavior with all of our guests,” He could already imagine her starting shit with every damn person she came across. “I will lock you in the tunnels on the other side of the preserve, with no food or water, and let you die of exposure.”

“You really need to get a handle on those murderous impulses.” She advised. “You should talk to one of my psychiatrists. Morrell is good.”

“Morrell is your shrink?” Oh, that was fucking fabulous.

“Wasn’t she your guidance counselor?” His father furrowed his brows.

“She was also the alpha packs emissary.” And she threatened to use the lethal injection cocktail on him when he was locked in Eichen House and possessed by the nogitsune. “I cannot believe they would…. That is going to change. I’ll talk to Fenrir on Saturday.”

“I’m making progress with her.” Gemma argued.

“I’m betting you are manipulating each other.” It was one of the things they had in common.

“So, she’s getting an ankle monitor and a makeshift bed in the attic.” Juice ticked off the list on his fingers. “Two problems: the kids and the club.”

“I’m not springing this on the boys. I want to talk to them before we bring them home.” They couldn’t just shove Gemma and the kids together without having a lengthy discussion first. “We’ll deal with the club when they get here.”

“The club knows you’re alive?” There was no lack of disbelief in the woman’s tone.

“Yep.” Juice smirked at her. “I don’t think they are going to react as well to your resurrection as they did to mine.”

“So nice of you to volunteer to tell them.” Stiles patted his husband on the back in thanks.

“What?” Juice gave him a confused scowl before realization dawned on him and he face palmed himself. “Damn it.”

“I can watch her.” His dad gestured to Gemma. “While you talk to the boys.”

“Are you sure?” He wasn’t thrilled about leaving Gemma alone with anyone, let alone his father.

“I’ll take her to the station with me and handcuff her to my desk. I have to pick up the ankle monitor and I have a few things to finish up.” That was a good plan and he trusted his dad to keep an eye on her. “I do have some concerns. Come talk to me for a minute, Juice can handle her.”

“Okay.”

He followed his dad out of the room and back into the kitchen. It was far enough away that Gemma couldn’t hear them, but Juice could, which meant he would still be in the loop.

“Ankle monitors can be cut off.” His father said flatly. “It’s not something court ordered. The cavalry is not going to be sent out to find her if she slips it.”

“Yeah, that’s not a problem. It’s more for her benefit than anything.” If they let her walk around free and clear, then she would think something was up. “Her first night in Eichen House, while she was sedated, I had Deaton implant three of those tracking microchips they have for dogs into different parts of her body.”

“You had _three_ microchips implanted in her?”

“Oh yeah.” He wasn’t just going to leave her in Beacon Hills without having a way to keep an eye on her. “You think three is bad, you should talk to Derek, he’s got like six implanted in Peter.”

“Jesus Christ.”

* * *

 

They chose to take the boys to John’s house for two reasons. One, it was their second home and somewhere they felt safe. Two, there was full-fat ice cream in the freezer that John was not allowed to have but the kids were. They were relying on the dessert to cushion the blow a bit. That was why there were two big bowls in front of each child on the dining room table.

“There’s something we wanted to talk to you about.” Stiles started and Juice wanted to smack him for the poor choice of words. _We need to talk_ was one of the most nerve-racking things you could hear.

“Are we in trouble for something?” Thomas questioned worriedly, side-eyeing his older brother as if he had done something wrong.

“No. You're not in trouble.” Juice was quick to reassure the boy. “There is someone at our house, who is going to be staying with us until Saturday.”

“We already know people are coming for the wedding.” Abel reminded them.

“The person wasn’t invited to the ceremony, but she’ll be there now. She, um, lives at a hospital, but needs to stay with us or a few days.” Stiles wrung his hands nervously as they attempted to explain the situation.

“Who is it?”

“Uh…” Stiles panicked eyes met Juice’s. “It’s uh…”

“Abel,” Juice directed his attention to their oldest nephew. “Do you remember the morning your dad’s funeral, when uncle Stiles said your dad and grandma weren’t coming back?”

“Yes.” The boy shot an uncertain glare to Stiles. “You were lying, weren’t you?”

“Why would you just assume- When have I ever....” Stiles spluttered indignantly, caught off guard by Abel’s response. They always tried to be as honest as they could with the kids, so it was odd that the kid would immediately jump to that conclusion. “Okay. Fine. I lied about Gemma, but I did not lie about Jax.”

“I know.” The boy stated simply. “I know he's really dead and not coming back.”

“How are you so sure?” Unless some supernatural force was at work, Jax was going to stay six feet under, but Abel couldn’t know that with a hundred percent certainty. He had been lied to about the dead before.

“I have the internet. His ‘accident,’” The eleven-year old used his fingers to place air quotes around the word. “Is on Youtube.”

“It is?” That was horrifying.

“The video is from the cop cars dash-cams.” Abel shrugged his shoulders as if it were no big deal.

“I’m changing the parental controls on the computers.” Juice decided, vowing to block any websites that could possibly show that footage. “No more Youtube.”

“You said you lied about Grandma Gemma.” Abel looked to Stiles. “She’s still alive?”

“She is. She’s been in the prison ward of a mental hospital.” Prison ward/supernatural ward, it was all the same. “She’s going to be there for the rest of her life. This week is just an anomaly.”

“She’s in a prison?” Thomas asked as he bit his lip. “Did she do something bad?”

“She killed our mom.” Abel dropped the bomb on his little brother before Juice or Stiles could get a word in. “Mom was going to take us away, somewhere safe, like uncle Stiles and uncle Juice did. Grandma didn’t like that, so she killed her.”

Stiles and Juice sat back in their chairs in shock. They had no idea Abel had known that much at all. Thomas seemed to take in the information slowly. His fingers began to tap on the table as he did. It was going to be harder for him to make sense of it. He was still so young. It might be years before he ever fully grasped what had happened.

“Why does she have to stay with us?” The older boy questioned suddenly.

“They’re updating the security at the hospital.” Stiles replied honestly. “I don’t trust anyone else to make sure she doesn’t take off, and she doesn’t have anywhere else to go.”

“Do you have any questions?” Juice offered the kids a chance to say whatever they needed to say.

“I don’t…” The youngest mumbled, grabbing a clump of hair in his fist. It was fidgeting movement he picked up from Stiles, who did it when he was having trouble fitting the pieces of a puzzle together. “I don’t understand.”

“What don’t you understand, buddy?”

“Why would she hurt our mom for trying to make us safe?”

“She’s crazy.” Abel blurted out.

“She thinks differently than most people.” Stiles reasoned. “Your mom taking you away from Charming was a betrayal to her. In her mind, there is only one way to handle betrayal.”

“She was our dad’s mom?” Thomas inquired after a beat of silence.

“Yes.”

“She’s your mom too?” They had been able to avoid this particular conversation until now. The boys only knew that Stiles was their dad’s brother, but grandpa John was not their dad’s father, so that only left one way for them to be related and that was through their dad’s mother.

“Uh…sort of, but no.” It took all Juice had not to roll his eyes, because Stiles was only confusing the kid more. “Do you remember when we told you why Wendy wanted to take Abel from us?”

“She wanted him back. ’Cause she was his first mom. He came from her.” The younger boy recalled their talk from the year before. “But she couldn’t take care of him when he was born, so my mom did, and she became his mom.”

“That’s right. Well, Gemma was my first mom, and she couldn’t take care of me.” That was the truth the boys were going to get. They wouldn’t be able to comprehend how their grandmother could give their uncle away because of a guilty conscious. “My real mom, my dad’s wife, was named Claudia. She loved me very much, just like your mom loved you both.”

“Look, we can’t change that Gemma is going to be staying with us. That doesn’t mean you have to be nice to her, or speak to her, or even acknowledge her presence.” Juice let them know they wouldn’t have to do anything they didn’t want to.

“Do we have to call her grandma?” Abel spit the name out like it was a dirty word.

“No, you do not. If you want to call her that then you can, but you do not have to if you don't want to.” Stiles assured the kids. “If you aren’t comfortable staying at the house while she’s there, then you can stay with grandpa.”

“Can grandpa stay with us while she’s there?”

“I would love that.” Stiles grinned. “But I don’t know if we’ll have enough room for him.”

“He can stay in one of our rooms!” Thomas offered excitedly. “Abel and I can share!”

“The couch in the study folds out in to a bed.” He reminded his husband. It wasn’t a very big bed but it would suit the sheriff for a few days. "He can sleep in there."

“We’ll ask him.”

* * *

 

He sat on the edge of the bed and watched Stiles change into his pajamas. The younger man’s movements were heavy, lethargic, as if it was taking all his energy to strip out of his clothes. The day’s events were finally catching up with him and weighing him down.

He knew it was too easy. They had gotten through it so quickly, with everything tied up in a neat little bow. They had accepted everything Gemma had to say on spot, without any time to really react to it. Now everything was settling down for the night.

The boys had been tucked into bed, having been kept out of the house late enough that they were asleep before they pulled into the driveway. Gemma was locked away in the attic, measures taken to ensure she couldn’t get out on her own. John had accepted the offer to stay and was puttering around on the first floor. There, in the bedroom, it was just he and Stiles.

“You okay?” He itched to go over to him, to give him some kind of physical comfort, but he knew from past experience if was better to let Stiles come to him.

“I’m just trying to wrap my head around all of it.” He was processing, trying to digest every truth Gemma had given him. “I’m trying to understand.”

“Which part?”

“The club taking out Henry to put Unser in play is probably the easiest thing to grasp.” It was certainly the simplest thing to fathom out of everything that was dumped on them today. “It’s the rest of it that I’m having trouble with. It’s the possibility of Clay being my father-“

“He’s not.” Some part of Juice still loved Clay, probably the same part that still loved his stepfather, but the idea of Clay Morrow being biologically related to Stiles was not something he could not allow his brain to even try and comprehend.

“How do we know that for sure?” Probability wasn’t really on John’s side, but still.

“Your dad said he had another paternity test-“

“What if only said that because of me?” Stiles faced him with tears in his eyes and the rancid scent of fear wafting off him. “He’s my dad no matter what, that doesn’t change, but what if…”

“Stiles, your dad would not lie to you about that.” There were very few things John would lie to Stiles about. “His heartbeat was steady. I would have known if he was being dishonest.”

“He’s been around wolves long enough to know how to steady his heart.” The younger man’s voice shook as he continued. “He would lie if he thought he was protecting me.”

“Stiles, listen to me, okay?” He stood from the bed and made his way over to his husband. “I don’t believe your dad would lie to you about this. If you do, then you need to talk to him about it in the morning.”

“I can’t do that without hurting him.”

“He knows you, Stiles. He knows how your mind works. He knows you’ll have doubts.” John knew how Stiles’ mind worked better than most. “If you don’t tell him and you just let it sit, then it’s going to start affecting your relationship with him and that he will notice.”

“I don’t want that to happen.” Stiles relationship with his dad was special, sacred. John was the only person the world who had never walked out or turned his back on him. “I don’t know why, but I just need to be sure.”

“If you aren’t going to trust your dad about it, then you might have to get another paternity test done.” If he did go down that road, Juice hoped he would at least inform John about it, rather than going behind his back. “Do you want to put this week off until you know for sure and your head is clear?”

“What? No. No.” Stiles reached out to link their fingers together. “I don’t want to do that. This is our week.”

“The whole point was to make our wedding day happy, since the last one wasn’t.” Instead of spending their wedding night together, they had both spent it in jail. “I don’t want to do it if this going to hang over our heads and make you miserable. We can put it off another year.”

“No. It’s not going to make me miserable. I promise.” Stiles insisted pleadingly. “Give me the night and possibly a little bit of tomorrow, to work through all this in my head. By the time people start showing up and we get busy with preparations, I’ll be all good.”

“You’ll be distracted.” There was a big difference between being good and being distracted. “I don’t want you to be stressed out or depressed ever, let alone on the day we’re supposed to renew our vows. That day is supposed to be ours, I don’t want it to be overshadowed-“

“It won’t be. I want to marry you, again, on Friday,” On their sixth wedding anniversary. “With our family and friends watching. When I think about that, the only thing on my mind is you. Nothing can overshadow that.”

“That should be part of your vows.” The younger man ducked his head at Juice’s praise. “I’m serious.”

“About those, I know we agreed to write our own,” They hadn’t had a chance to do that the first time around. “I did write them. I just don’t feel comfortable sharing them with everyone we know. There are some things that I only want you to know, that only you can understand. So, I was thinking maybe we do traditional vows at the ceremony and then that night, when we’re alone, we can exchange the ones we wrote to each other.”

“I love that idea.” The things he wrote were private as well, things only meant for Stiles ears. “You sure, though? Are you sure you’re going to be okay this week?”

“I am.”

“If you change your mind-“

“I’ll tell you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next: The McCall pack, SAMCRO, and the Ortiz's all descend upon the Stilinski house. The line between protective and possessive may get a little blurred when Juice's Charming family meets his Queens family. And Stiles realizes keeping the supernatural a secret from his in-laws might be a little harder than he thought with all the wolves running around his house.
> 
> [TUMBLR](http://www.stilinski-ortiz.tumblr.com/)  
> [Youtube](https://www.youtube.com/user/SandM1827/)  
> Thank you for all the comments and kudos, they are greatly appreciated.


	13. Please Forgive Me, I Can't Stop Loving You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd.  
> Chapter title comes from Please Forgive Me by Bryan Adams  
> Gif Set: [Stiles and Juice's First Time](http://stilinski-ortiz.tumblr.com/post/125212320834/son-shine-verse-the-club-finds-out-about-stiles), [The Ones Who Made It](http://stilinski-ortiz.tumblr.com/post/127310645879/son-shine-it-all-started-in-that-old)

John was already up and around when Juice trudged down the stairs bright and early in the morning. He was still rubbing the sleep from his eyes when he joined the older man in the kitchen. He couldn’t help but groan as he inhaled the scent of freshly brewed coffee permeating around the room.

“Stiles still asleep?” His father-in-law asked as he handed over a mug.

“Nope. He tossed and turned all night.” He took a long sip of the brew before continuing. “Finally climbed out of bed around dawn, went to sit out on the balcony. He hasn’t come back in.”

“Gemma’s still in his head.” John sighed, scrubbing a hand down his face. “I shouldn’t be surprised by that.”

“It’s Gemma and you, actually.” He didn’t want to reveal too much and break the trust he and Stiles had, but he could give John a nudge in the right direction. “You should talk to him.”

“He didn’t believe me when I said he was my kid.” The older man concluded somberly.

“You know him.” Stiles didn’t take anything without a grain of salt, even from the people he trusted the most. “It has nothing to do with you. You’re always going to be his dad. Nothing can change that. It’s just the idea of Clay being connected to him in any way…it’s got him spooked.”

“He’s got a lot of well placed hate for Clay.” It was a well-known fact that Stiles had never liked Clay, even as a kid. The hit Clay put out on Tara, Gemma’s beat down, and Piney’s murder only amplified that hate. “I can understand why it would shake him. I wasn’t lying about the paternity test, but he’s not going to believe that without proof.”

“Do you have any?” For Stiles sake, he hoped he did.

“Yeah, I do.” John nodded his head thoughtfully. “It’s at home. I’ll grab it when I run over there to pick up some clothes. When do you leave to pick up your family?”

“Their flight gets in about an hour from now.” He glanced at his watch to double-check the current time. “I need to get dressed and head out soon.”

“Why don’t I take the boys with me when I go into town?” John suggested, eyes finding the stairs that led to where the boys were sleeping. “That way Stiles doesn’t have to run interference between them and Gemma just yet.”

“When do you plan on doing that?” He didn’t relish the idea of leaving Stiles alone with Gemma for any amount of time. She had already gotten into his head once, and he shuddered to think what she could do if left with him for an extended period of time.

“I can wait a little while, but I’d like it get that stuff for Stiles before he drives himself any crazier than he already has.” Yeah, that took priority. “Some of the club and the pack are coming by today. Do you know what time?”

“Chibs said he was going to show up early. Tig, Venus, and Happy are coming up with him.” The three Sons, Venus, and Lyla were the only ones from Charming that would be making the trip today. “They’ve made some not so subtle comments amount wanting to vet my family, so they’ll probably be here before I get back.”

“I’ll wait for them.” That way they could both get what they needed to do done, and Stiles could have some back up. “I guess that means you’re leaving it to me or Stiles to tell them about Gemma?”

“I told Chibs last night.” He had bitten the bullet and phoned the Scot while they were still out with the kids. “He was going to tell the others about it.”

“As long as they’re told before they get here, so we avoid any fireworks.” That would probably be best, yeah.

“He will tell them.” He did another quick check of his watch before taking a sip of his coffee. “I gotta get dressed. You want me to get the boys up?”

“I can do it. Have you let Gemma out to use the restroom?” John questioned as he rinsed out his cup.

“No, I’ll do it before I leave.” Then he would have to decide whether to lock her back up or let her roam the house. “All right, I gotta get my ass in gear or I’m going to be late.”

He gave John a quick wave goodbye before sprinting back up the stairs. The bedroom door was slightly ajar, just the way he left it, which was enough to tell him Stiles still hadn’t come back inside. He would have made sure the door was firmly closed if he had. A look toward the balcony painted the same picture he had seen before he had left the room.

His husband was curled up in the wicker chair, the blanket Juice had brought him earlier was draped over his lap, and he had an unlit joint between his fingers. He made his way toward him, keeping his steps heavy enough to make noise so not to startle him by just appearing. He reached a hand out to run it through Stiles hair and considered it a win that he moved into his touch rather than pulling away from it.

“Morning.” He leaned down to kiss the younger man’s cheek.

“Morning.” Stiles voice was hoarse, the way it became after he woke up screaming or spent a good amount of time crying. “The boys awake?”

“Your dad is getting them up and around. He’s going to take them to run a few errands in town.” Stiles only nodded along and Juice wasn’t sure how much he was hearing or if he was really listening at all. “He’s worried about you.”

“So are you.” Stiles flashed him a sad smile. “I’m sorry.”

“Did you change your mind?” There may be a few upset guests, but he didn’t care about ruffling a few feathers if it meant keeping his husband sane. “Do you want to postpone-“

“No. No postponing.” He declined the offer once again. “I’m okay.”

“No, you’re not.” He was far from it. “But you will be.”

“You know what could help me along?” He had a pretty good idea given the way Stiles gaze found the cup in his hands. “A caffeine boost.”

“It’s funny you say that.” He held the mug just out of reach. “I have something you want and you have something I want.”

“If you’re hinting at the blowjob you passed up yesterday,” He sent a flirty wink Juice’s way, but his tired eyes gave away his lack of interest in any sexual activity. “I’m gonna request a rain check.”

“I’ll take you up on that blowjob later.” Preferably when they were both in the mood. “I was actually talking about the joint.”

“Take it. I rolled it, and then didn’t want it.” They did a quick swap of the items in their hands, Juice handing over his coffee and Stiles giving him the spiff. “You gotta go soon?”

“Yeah.” He snatched Stiles lighter from the table and lit up the joint. “I can smoke and change clothes at the same time.”

“Just don’t burn yourself trying to take a hit while putting on your shirt.”

“That was one time and it was an accident.” He had misjudged how small the hole for his head was and the smoke dangling from his lips was ripped out and dragged down his chest by the shirt collar. “I healed.”

“Let’s keep the supernatural healing, glowing eyes, and extra teeth to a minimum while your family’s here.” Stiles suggested. “I’d like to avoid another ‘werewolves are real’ discussion, especially when it’s followed by ‘oh, and your son is one too.’”

“I’ll try my best.” He had a pretty good handle on his control, they all did, but there were bound to be slip-ups. “Hey, I was thinking we should have your dad drop the boys off a camp for the day. I know they’re supposed to stay home and do the meet and greet with my family, but that was before Gemma. They can meet everyone at dinner. We should let them breathe today.”

“That’s a good idea.” Stiles reached out a hand to link their fingers together, smiling up at him softly. “You’re a good dad.”

“So are you.” It warmed his heart to know his husband thought he was a good father to their boys. “Speaking of being dads…”

“What?”

“Thomas and Abel want to call us Dad.” He expected some kind of shock or trepidation to take up residence on his husbands face, but surprisingly it did not. “Thomas talked to your dad about it. He talked to me about it yesterday.”

“Okay.”

“’Okay?’” _Okay_ what?

“I don’t mind them calling us dad. It might be kind of nice.” Stiles mused serenely. “I wanted them to come to us with it. They had to make that decision. If they understand it, and it’s what they decided they want, then okay. That is, if you are okay with it.”

“I’m okay with it.” It was terrifying, yeah, but he was more than okay with it. “When do you want to tell them?”

“We can tell them tonight.” That was probably for the best. There was no use filling their heads with heavy shit before sending them off to camp. It would defeat the whole purpose of sending them to camp.

“Sounds like a plan.” He leaned in to kiss his husband’s cheek once more. “I’ve wasted enough time. I gotta get dressed.”

“What are you going to tell your family about Gem?”

“The truth.” If they wanted his family to be smart about their interactions with Gemma, then they needed to know everything. “Chibs will be here soon. Your dad won’t leave until he gets here.”

“Putting up a defensive line between me and Gemma?”

“Something like that.”

“I can take care of myself, you know.”

“I know.”

* * *

 

He always thought Stiles and Juice had gone a little overboard with the security. Taking into account Stiles job and general paranoia, it wasn’t all that shocking to see the extreme measures taken to ensure their safety. He thought the high fences, the gate that only allowed you entry with a passcode, the video cameras, floodlights, and home alarm system were all a bit much, but it had never really bothered him until now.

“I’ve put in the bloody code.” He smacked his hand against the steering wheel as _something_ refused to let him through the opened gate. The car stalled out every single time he tried to drive past it. “What more do you want from me?”

“Maybe this guy can help.” One of his passengers gestured toward an SUV coming down the path from the house, stopping when the driver’s side windows of both vehicles were parallel.

“That’s John, Stiles’ Da.” He informed the women as he rolled down the window to address the sheriff.

“Problem, Chibs?” The other man questioned. “Saw the gate open on the monitor, assumed it was you.”

“I can’t come through.” He thought that much was obvious. “Don’t know what’s going on. Car just won’t go past the damn thing. That’s never happened before.”

“This is just a guess, but are any of the ladies you have in the car with you,” He gave them both a nod in greeting. “Of the supernatural variety?”

“Aye.” He hadn’t been made aware of that until Stiles did the Werewolf 101 talk years ago. “Why does that matter?”

“There’s mountain ash surrounding the property.” John opened his car door, stuck a leg out, and brushed his foot against the dirt. “Pull forward until you’re past the gate.”

“All right.” He did as instructed and miraculously made it through this time.

“I’ll see you later. Gotta run into town with the boys.” John shifted the dirt around once more before retracting his limbs back into the car and driving off.

“Mountain ash…” The woman beside him cast a superstitious glance back to the gate as they drove up the pathway toward the house. “How the hell does Juice get in and out of this place if it is always surrounded by mountain ash?”

“I don’t know.” Maybe there was a trick to it, or maybe Stiles went out to the gate every time Juice needed in or out.

He didn’t think much on it as he parked next to the jeep in the gravel driveway. The lack of other vehicles told him that Juice was probably still out and about, and no one else had shown up yet. It meant that Stiles was in there alone with Gemma.

He ushered the women out of the car as quickly as he could, not wanting to leave the pair in the house together longer than necessary. He used his emergency key to unlock the front door, hurrying inside and toward the one room in the house everyone always seemed to converge in, the kitchen.

Stiles was where he could usually be found in the early morning hours, blessing the coffee gods while pouring himself a cup of fresh brew. The boy looked tired, dark circles around his eyes, as if he hadn’t slept all night. Gemma was sitting at the kitchen island, looking as prim and put together as he had ever seen her. Her hair was done up, a thick layer of make up on her face, dressed in her usual downtime clothing of jeans and plaid. It was almost as if she had been living a normal life instead of being stuck in a mental institution the last six years.

“Chibs,” The matriarch grinned up at him as if they had not missed a day. She made a move to stand, probably to get up and give him a hug, like they were still friends, still family.

“No.” He held up a hand to stop her.

He made his way to Stiles, who had plastered on a fake yet nearly believable smile. He wrapped an arm around the kids shoulders, kissing the side of his head, and felt him relax just a bit.  

“You okay?” He kept his voice low enough for only them to hear and received the barest nod in return. “Good. Say hello to my girls.”

“Okay.” Stiles looked around Chibs to see the guests he brought with him. “Oh. Wow. Hi.”

“You’ve met Fiona before.” Stiles had met his wife once as a toddler and again when Chibs was in the hospital recovering from the car bomb. “This is my daughter, Kerrianne.”

“Hello,” Kerri offered a brief wave. “It’s nice to finally meet you in person.”

“Likewise.”

“What the hell does that mean?” This was the first time they were meeting at all.

“We skype.” Stiles told him, as if he had any idea what that was or why the boy was doing it with his little girl. “The boys and I were video chatting Trinity one night and she happened to be there, and we got to talking. We exchanged emails and phone numbers after that.”

“Oh really?” Neither of them had ever mentioned that to him. “What exactly do you talk about?”

“You.” They answered in unison with matching shit-eating grins.

“Christ.” He didn’t know if that was good or bad. Eh, he would deal with it later. “Juicy still at the airport?”

“He should be on his way back now, if the flight was on time.” The younger man glazed at the digital clock on the stove. “Weren’t the others supposed to come up with you?”

“They’re running a little behind. They were gonna stop by the clubhouse to pick up the big barbecue, so they don’t have to haul it up tomorrow.” He spared a glance at Gemma before returning his focus to Stiles. “Look, I know you’ve got this big breakfast planned, but are you sure you still want to do it? If you’re not up for it-“

“I want to do it. I want to give everyone a chance to get to know each other.” Everyone being the McCall pack, SAMCRO, and Juice’s family. “We won’t really have time tomorrow, until the reception. I want to avoid as much awkwardness as we can. Today, we can all have breakfast, lunch, and dinner together. It’ll help everyone get comfortable with one another.”

“You gonna have enough food for all that?” That was a hell of a lot of people to feed.

“For breakfast and lunch, yeah. For dinner, we’ll send someone out to get a bunch of pizzas. It's still the middle of the week, people have to work, so most of them won't show up until dinner anyway.” Thank god for small favors. “You can all sit down. Grab some coffee, or there’s other stuff in the fridge, and tea in the cabinet. I need to get started on breakfast.”

“I’ll help you.” Gemma volunteered. “I need to do something other than twiddle my thumbs.”

“Fine.” Stiles nodded toward the cupboard. “We bought stuff to make cinnamon rolls. Why don’t you get started on those? Make enough for twenty-five people. I doubt that many show up, but if more than that do, it’s first come first serve.”

“What can we help with?” Fiona asked, rolling up her sleeves.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that. You are guests. Sit. Relax.” Stiles gestured toward the table. “I’m sure you’re tired from your flight.”

“We got in two days ago.” She told him. “We’re fine. We want to help.”

“Uh, okay. You guys can do the eggs, bacon, and sausage.” He delegated tasks to them. “I’ll work on the waffles and pancake. Chibs, will you grab the extra coffee pot from the garage?”

“Yeah.”

* * *

 

There was a heavy coating of dust covering the book, a testament to how long it had been since he last removed it from the shelf. It was all original, personalized, not some cheap thing you picked up at the store. He made it special, because that is what his son was to him.

The cover was monogrammed with initials, _NTS_. The first page contained all the usual information. The infants name, _Nathaniel Thomas Stilinski_. The date and time of birth, _April 08, 1996 at 3:14 a.m_. The height and weight, _18 inches long, 4lbs and 3oz_. And the place of birth, _St. Thomas Hospital, Charming, CA._ There were even handprints and footprints stamped on the page.

None of that would mean the same thing to Stiles as it meant to him. It was not what his son needed to see. However, tucked away between the pages of the book, was a sheet of paper that had changed his entire life. It was the only thing that was going to put his son's mind at ease.

* * *

 

It was a rather quiet drive home, following the airport reunion with his family. That probably had something to do with the conversation they had before they even made it to the parking lot. After collecting their baggage, he led them to the coffee shop located outside the terminals. He had given them the quick and dirty run down on Gemma, ensuring they knew exactly what she was capable of. He was met with uncomfortable silence but understanding. He only left airport when he was confident they would not allow Gemma to get under their skin.

His mom, younger brother, and sisters had all piled themselves into the Volvo with him. Ray and Roxanne had rented a car for a duration of their stay and trailed behind him down the road. He didn’t try and make the trip through town interesting. He didn’t point out the sheriff’s station or his garage. He simply drove and kept his mouth shut until they reached the preserve.

“You live out in the woods.” His mother admired the passing view.

“We’re the only house for miles.” They had no neighbors. The other homes in the woods were closer to town. “It’s nice, quiet, it won’t be this weekend, but it usually is.”

“I imagine it’s not that quiet with kids running around.” Out of the corner of his eye, he caught her knowing smirk. “I remember what it was like having little boys. Although, your sisters were always louder and messier than you boys.”

“We were not.” Marianna scoffed at the accusation.

“You still are.” He muttered under his breath, but his oldest sister must have heard him if the smack to the back of the head he received meant anything. “Hey! Don’t hit the driver!”

“Don’t be a wuss.” He expected that kind of thing from Marianna, not Marisol.

“Are you forty or four?” He retorted, earning another blow to the head. “Ow. Damn it, Mari.”

“This is what you get for implying that I’m old.” She grumbled. “ _Forty_. Fuck you.”

“Marisol you are forty- _three_.” Juice was trying to be nice, shaving a few years off his sister's age. His mother was not as kind. “Juan Carlos, you’ll have to forgive your sister, she gets antsy being cooped up so long. I remember now why we didn’t go on more family trips. The majority of you turn in to obnoxious little shits when locked in a vehicle for too long.”

“Don’t you mean all of us?” Felix piped up. “We all hated it.”

“Out of the six of you, Juan Carlos and Angelo were the one ones who enjoyed long rides.” She reached over to pat Juice’s knee. “When you were a baby, there were some nights you wouldn’t even sleep unless I drove you around the block. As a child, when you had a nightmare, you would refuse to go back to bed, so I’d take you for a drive, or Raymond would do it. We’d just go in circles until you fell back to sleep.”

“Not much has changed. I still go for drives when I’m having trouble sleeping.” Instead of taking a car, he would go for long rides on his bike. “Or I go for runs.”

The conversation lolled to silence as the passengers took in the sights and sounds in the forest. A wave of nervousness hit him as he made the turn down the dirt road and the _NO TRESPASSING_ sign came into view, signaling he only a short distance left to go. It wasn’t long before he came upon the gate. The fact that it let him through with no problems told him he was not the first supernatural creature to pass it recently.

“Lots of security for being the only ones out here.” Marianna noted apprehensively.

“An arsonist set fire to a house out here a couple years back. Eight people died.” He wouldn’t elaborate on whose house it was. They would be meeting Derek later and he did not want that on their minds when they did. “The arsonist was caught, but we don’t want to take any chances, with the boys and all.”

“Understandable.”

“Holy crap.” Felix breathed out, sounding a little awe-struck as they caught sight of the house, and yeah, it had that affect on people.

It was a smaller old Victorian style house. It was a little run down, from all the years spent empty, but that only gave it more character. That’s not to say they didn’t fix it up a bit. He and Stiles had spent a considerable amount of time repairing it little by little. The inside and outside were given new paint jobs. They had rebuilt the debilitated back porch, turned it into a deck, and installed a porch swing. They tried not to upgrade it too much, enjoying the older era feel it had.

“This is beautiful.” His mom said approvingly as he pulled into an open spot in the driveway.

“We like it. Come on.” They piled out of the Volvo, and watched Ray and Roxanne do the same from their rental car.

He took a moment, inhaled the scent, not of the forest, but of the people who had come to his home. SAMCRO was easily discernible from the others, all engine grease and weed. The McCall pack was next, they hadn’t arrived yet, but their underlying smell always flooded these woods. There was one scent that stood out against the rest, another alpha he didn’t recognize, but he didn’t feel threatened by it.

The inside of the house was far more telling. It was loud, full of people, as he expected it to be. Everyone was gathered in the kitchen and dining room area. He spotted Gemma at the counter, rolling dough, and chatting idly with Venus. The few club members in attendance were standing around, talking amongst each other. Stiles was off in the corner, flipping pancakes on the griddle, keeping to himself, looking guarded and tense, but trying to appear as if he wasn’t.

Chibs seemed to be watching the younger man with thinly veiled concern, until Fiona elbowed him in the ribs and pointed toward Juice. The Scot smiled brightly, locking his fingers with his wife and bringing her and Kerrianne over to meet him in the foyer.

“Hey,” He greeted the Telford’s. “This is my mom, Antonia, and my brothers and sisters.”

“Hi,” Chibs nodded toward them. “I’m Chibs, this if my wife Fiona and daughter Kerrianne.”

“It’s good to see you guys again.” A whiff of the Larkin-Telford's allowed him to pinpoint the strange alpha he had scented outside, it was Fiona. “I didn’t know you’d be making the trip. It’s a long way from Belfast.”

“Kerri’s never been to the states, and I’ve been meaning to bring her so she could see her Da.” The she-wolf disclosed. “Filip mentioned needing a date for a wedding, so here we are.”

“I can’t watch my boys get married without having my girls with me.” Chibs threw an arm around Juice’s shoulders and pulled him in close. “What’s wrong with the boy? Besides the obvious.”

“Gemma gave him some truth he wasn’t ready for.” Current company did not need to know the specifics of said truth. “John’s going to fix it. We just have to wait for him to get back.”

“Hey.” Stiles called to them. “Grab some plates. Breakfast is mostly served. It’s not all done yet, but it’s enough to get you started.”

“Do me a favor,” Juice sidestepped Chibs to speak to his mother directly. “Don’t try to hug Stiles. I'm sure you noticed he was a little twitchy about it when we were in Queens. He’s going to be worse about it now.”

“I’ll just say hello.” She cast a worried glance to the younger man, whose focus had returned to cooking. “Is he all right?”

“He will be.” He was absolutely sure of that. “Let’s get some food.”

“I wasn’t sure what everyone liked,” Stiles motioned toward the spread of food. “We made a little bit of everything. There’s even some real bacon mixed in with the turkey stuff.”

“I didn’t buy any real bacon.” Juice had done all the grocery shopping for this breakfast and he sure as hell did not put pork bacon in the cart.

“Really?” His husband was the picture of innocence. “Huh. I wonder how it could’ve gotten in our freezer.”

“Gee, I wonder.” He whipped his head toward the visiting club members to find the guilty party. Chibs knew better and Happy didn’t mind turkey bacon. That only left one person. “Damn it, Tiggy.”

“What? That turkey crap is gross.” Oh please, it tasted exactly like the pork stuff. “Stiles told me to bring it. He said if I did I would be off probation, no more supervised visitation.”

“The fuck I did.” Stiles squawked. “I _love_ turkey bacon.”

“I don’t know what the big deal is.” Tig shrugged his shoulders. “It’s just bacon, bro.”

“One, I know you’re lying, Stiles.” His husband was all too happy to shove health food down John’s throat, but stuck up his nose at the idea of eating it himself. “Two, it’s called being health conscious, Tig.”

“A health nut is more like it.”

“So that’s Tig.” He introduced his family to the Son, then pointed out the others. “His old lady Venus, and that’s Happy. Everyone, this is my mom Antonia, and Felix, Marisol, Marianna, Ray and Roxanne.”

“Marianna, huh?” Tig drawled. “You’re the one who spent an hour yelling at Stiles in Yiddish.”

“I never yelled at Stiles.” She looked more than a little offended at the accusation.

“It was a couple years ago, before we officially met. Juice had gotten hurt. It was pretty touch and go.” Stiles caught Juice’s eye, telling him, without telling him, that _touch and go_ meant _dead but not dead_. “I called the number he had for Marisol and got you instead. You didn’t like me very much after I told you I was married to your brother.”

“Oh.” She had the good sense to look a little guilty. “Sorry.”

“No hard feelings.” Stiles brushed it off easily. “Hey, get some food and grab a seat, guys.”

They did as they were told, piling their plates with a large variety of food offered. They were probably overdoing it, serving such a huge meal, but that was kind of the point. Stiles wanted this, a big family breakfast, in order to make a good impression. He had told Juice before that he thought his meeting of the Ortiz family in Queens was overshadowed by the family reunion. They couldn’t react properly to Stiles when they were so overjoyed to have Juice back.

This visit was different, and not just because of the wedding and families coming together. It was his family in his and Stiles space. They had the room to judge their home and their lives, which was not as terrifying as it would have been a few years ago. Still, it was a little nerve-racking.

“You gonna grab some food and join us?” He asked his husband as he and his family settled down at the table.

“I’m going to finish up then start on these dishes, so we have things to cook and eat off later.” Translation: No, he was not going to eat, and he didn’t want to chat, but he didn’t want to be rude about it.

“I can finish up so you can eat.” Gemma offer seemed to startle the younger man.

“I’ve got it.” Stiles insisted. “Make a plate. I’m sure you’re tired of all the Eichen House food.”

“What the hell?” Chibs grunted as he dropped into a chair across from him. “What the hell did she say to him last night? It had to be bad if he’s being all placid with her.”

“She told him the real reason she didn’t want anything to do with him after he was born. Among other things.” He reported in a hushed tone. “Don’t worry about it. John is going to fix it. Then she and Stiles will go back to being openly hostile with each other.”

“Why can’t you fix it?” He appreciated the vote of confidence, but it really was not in his area of expertise.

“’Cause it has nothing to do with me.” There was nothing he could say to Stiles about it that would change how he was feeling. He could only talk to a wall so many times. “It’s a dad thing. Only _his dad_ can fix it.”

“If it’s going to be that simple.” Chibs huffed and eyed Juice’s family. “Don’t judge Stiles based on Gemma, please.”

“Yeah, I had nothing to do with his upbringing.” Gemma took the free chair between Fiona and Roxanne. “Blame Johnny for anything wrong with him.”

“There’s nothing wrong with him.” Juice’s mother quickly came to his husband’s defense, which was all kinds of sweet.

“You know that from spending a few days with him?” They really should have expected this kind of challenging behavior from the matriarch.

“Gemma,” Stiles voice was thick with warning. “If you can’t behave, you can go eat in the attic.”

“See how he treats his mother.” Gemma clucked her tongue disapprovingly.

“You are not his mother.” John’s authoritative tone boomed through the room, and Juice hadn’t even heard the front door open, let alone anyone come in. “At best you’re an egg donor.”

“At best you are an _adoptive_ father.” She shot back cruelly.

“What?” Chibs and Tig said together in alarm.

“Gemma!” Juice snarled, watching Stiles pale.

“Nice try.” John waved some kind of book in the air. “I didn’t trust you then. I don’t trust you now. I sure as hell don’t appreciate you screwing with _my_ kids head.”

“Bitch out Gemma later. Fix the kid now.” Happy ordered gruffly.

“Right.” The older man turned to face his son. “Let’s go talk for a minute, out on the deck.”

“We don’t need to talk. I’m fi-“ Stiles caught himself before he could finish that particular statement. “It’s all good, Dad.”

“Humor me.”

“Have you met Juice’s family yet?” Stiles must have really been thinking the worst if he was attempting to use Juice’s family to wiggle his way out of the conversation. “I don’t think you have.”

“He can meet them when you two are done talking.” Juice jerked a thumb toward the back door. “Go.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.” Stiles grumbled, setting down the spatula.

_“Go.”_

“Fine.” Stiles ceded, glancing toward the small TV mounted on the wall in the corner of the kitchen. “By the way, Lyla is at the gate. Someone should let her in, she doesn’t know the code.”

“I’ll get it.” Tig volunteered. “Go get yourself straightened out, Stiles.”

John held the back door open for Stiles before shutting it firmly behind them. Juice was thankful the doors were basically glass panels. It allowed him to see what was going on.

“Juicy boy,” Chibs tapped his finger on the table. “Quit your spying. Let ‘em have their moment.”

“I’m not spying.” He mumbled, shifting his gaze until it landed on his little brother whose eyes were fixated on the entryway. “Felix, you’re not gonna spaz out on Lyla, right?”

“W-what? No.” Felix stammered. “Th-the Saffron sister? Red Woody’s queen? No. I’m not going to spaz out.”

“You got a little excited when you found out Stiles and I knew her.” Not to mention how happy he was when they had given him that one-year subscription for the studios website. “I want you to remember she is more than her job, okay? Don’t freak her out.”

“I won’t.” He held up his hands defensively.

“Be good, Fee.” Marianna pinched their younger brother’s arm. “No fangirling.”

“I’ll be good.”

“You better be. That is Stiles sister-in-law.” Stiles may not come off like the incredibly protective type, but he was. One of the key roles he had growing up was to look after his brothers old ladies. He took that job very seriously, even with Jax and Opie in the grave. “And a single mother with three teenagers. She’s not going to put up with any shit.”

“I’ll be good.” Felix repeated. “I’m very respectful of women.”

“You should take him on a tour of the studio while he’s here.” Happy recommended.

“Don’t encourage him.” He was trying to put a leash on his brother, not set him loose.

“Hey, I got Lyla and a few others that were waiting behind her.” Tig declared as he entered the house with several footsteps trailing behind him. Along with Lyla, came Lydia carrying a wailing infant, Scott, and Melissa.

As his family took the time to introduce themselves to the new arrivals, he took special notice of Scott. The True Alpha had zeroed in on the other alpha in the room, Fiona. They seemed to size each other up and Fiona looked rather unimpressed by the younger man. Scott must have sensed that, took offense to it, because red began to taint the normally brown pigment of his eyes.

“Scott!” Juice made sure there was just enough threat in his voice to make the kid understand that there would be no alpha posturing in his house. “Fix yourself a plate of food. All of you can, actually. There’s plenty to go around.”

“Smells good.” Lydia spared a glance at the selection before walking around the table to where Juice was sitting and holding out the baby. “You mind?”

“That depends,” He eyed the child suspiciously. “Is she crying because she needs a diaper change?”

“She’s cranky from the car ride.” Oh, that was okay then. He took the baby gently into his arms, confident he wouldn’t be doing any diaper duty today. “Thank you.”

“Hi there,” He cooed at the baby, cradling her close and patting her back soothingly, feeling her calm against him, her sobs ceasing. “Too hot for you out in that car, huh?”

“It’s not the heat. She freaks out every time _I_ put her in the car.” Lydia muttered. “She’s perfectly fine with my mom or Parrish. It is me she doesn’t like. I don’t get it.”

“It’s your perfume.” Fiona chimed in. “She’s probably got a sensitive nose. The scent of your perfume is more pronounced in the confines of the car. Kerri was the same way. Either don’t wear perfume in the car with her or keep the windows rolled down.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks.”

“Where are Stiles and John?” Melissa asked as she fixed herself a plate of food. “And the boys?”

“Boys are at camp. We’re trying to put off their reunion with granny Gemma as long as possible.” Gemma leveled him with a glare for the comment. “John and Stiles are talking privately on the deck. That’s also Gemma’s fault, if you’re wondering.”

“You used to like me.” The matriarch reminded.

“I used to like a lot of things that were detrimental to my health.” He had given most of those things up too and had not regretted it yet. “Like heroin and LSD.”

“Ah man. How come we never did LSD together?” Tig questioned, looking disappointed that they had missed the opportunity.

“I swore that shit of long before I left Queens. I had a really bad trip once at Coney Island…” It scared him enough to stop playing around with that particular drug. “Never again, dude.”

“I’m sure your mother is so happy to hear about your past drug use.” Gemma’s assumption that his mother had no idea about his former drug abuse was laughable.

“She’s well aware of it.” He informed her before the squeaking of the back door caught his attention.

“Juice,” John took a few steps inside. “Tag in. He wants to talk to you, if your family doesn’t mind.”

“Is he okay?” Juice stood from his chair, peeking around his father-in-law to look outside, seeing Stiles sitting on the porch swing. “You were supposed to make it better, not worse.”

“I did make it better.” John huffed. “I gave him the proof he needed. There’s something else on his mind."

“I’ll take care of it.” Juice assured him, handing the baby off to the older man.

* * *

 

Stiles kept the baby book close to his chest like a lifeline. It contained more than just an aged copy of the paternity test from Beacon Hills Memorial that proved his biological connection to his father. It held pictures and mementos from his childhood, most involving only him and his dad. It was a reminder of their bond, the one that would have been forged whether there was blood between them or not.

He let the implications of that sink in as the door opened and closed, signaling another person had joined him. The swing shifted under a new weight and a plate of hot food was shoved under his nose moments later.

“Thanks.” He laid the book down next to him on the swing and took the proffered plate.

“You won’t eat if I don’t feed you. Not when you get like this.” Juice mused, a hint of concern in his voice. “Your dad said you wanted to talk to me.”

“Yeah.” He set the plate on his lap and took one of Juice’s hands in his. “I’m okay. I just wanted you to know that.”

“I know.” His husband stroked his thumb over the top of his hand. “Did you get the answers you needed?”

“My dad is my dad.” Blood test or not, that was never going to change. “What Gemma said yesterday…it shouldn’t have mattered, but it did. It was just…”

“Clay.”

“Yeah.” The mere possibility of Clay’s blood being part of his made him feel like the rug had been ripped out from under him. “You know that had never even crossed my mind until Gemma brought it up. You think it would have, considering all the things she’s lied about before.”

“Maybe it’s because your dad has always been your dad, long before you ever knew Gemma was your mom.” Juice pondered thoughtfully. “That is the one thing you never had to question when everything else about your family got twisted around. That’s always been true and it still is.”

“I know.” Gemma had tried to take that from him, just like she tried to warp what he had with his mother after she died. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“My family shit always seems to interrupt our time with your family.” Their trip to Queens was cut short by the Calaveras attack on his father. Now Gemma was filling his head with nonsense and making everyone tense. “It shouldn’t be like that. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.” His husband unlinked their hands so he could wrap an arm around his shoulders. “You can’t control your family, what they say, or what they do. We can only control how we react to it.”

“I haven’t been reacting very well.”

“You’ve been acting better than most would have in the same situation.” It was a low bar.

“I know my sulking hasn’t made me the most welcoming.” Their guests probably thought he was being horribly rude. “Do you think they’d think any worse of me if I stayed out here a little longer?”

“No.” Juice used his foot to rock the swing back and forth. “I’m gonna stay here with you. Let them get to know each other without us as a buffer.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.” He spoke before jerking away at the feel of something move against his thigh. “Your pocket is vibrating.”

“My phone.” Juice pulled the device out and checked the screen. “It’s the camp.”

“Oh, that can’t be good.”

* * *

 

Chibs was happy his seat allowed him a nice view of the back deck. It let him watch his boys chat with one another, both relaxing in the others presence, up until Juice answered his phone.

“Now who’s spying?” Fiona caught him in the act.

“I’m just checking on them.” He was not going to apologize for that.

“Juan Carlos said the two of you were close.” Juice’s mother mentioned. “Told me you were his best friend.”

“Aye.” He nodded letting a small smile grace his lips. “Known him a long time.”

“Juicy lived with Chibby for a while after he first came out here.” Tig told her. “After little Stiles convinced him that our Scottish brother had no nefarious intentions.”

“Little Stiles…” Juice’s brother Ray scoffed. “He still looks little to me.”

“You said you would keep your judgmental bullshit to yourself.” The man’s wife snapped at him. “That is the only reason your mother let you come.”

“He’s young. We get it. You do not approve.” Marianna barked at the oldest Ortiz brother. “We do, because Juan Carlos is happy with him and it is none of our goddamn business. Shut your mouth about it.”

“Look at this way,” Ray began, not taking any advice from his wife or sister. “I’ve been with Roxanne longer than that kid’s been alive.”

“That is not a fair comparison. You’ve been with Roxanne for thirty-two years.” Felix narrowed his eyes at his brother. “That’s longer than I’ve been alive, and almost as long as Juan Carlos has been alive.”

“Raymond, if you refuse to get over your crap, then you will go back to your hotel room and stay there.” Antonia more or less threatened to send her oldest child to his room. That was hilarious. “I told you I would not tolerate it.”

“You should listen to your mother.” Happy advised darkly, earning an eye roll from Ray, which was just stupid if you knew Happy.

“I’m just trying to understand.” The man claimed. “I just want to know how it all…happened.”

“You wanna know how Juice and Stiles became _Juice and Stiles_?” Chibs deduced, thinking that maybe this guy just wanted a little background on his brother, and didn’t know how to ask for it outright.

“I’d like to know how Juan Carlos became Juice.” Felix put out there.

“You really don’t.” Juice himself said as he and Stiles came back into the house. “We have to run into town real quick. Is everyone going to be okay here?”

“What’s going on?” John asked worriedly.

“Camp administrator called, they want us to come in for a meeting.” Stiles answered as he put his plate of food in the microwave. “We’ll be back soon.”

“Okay.” Chibs waited until the two men were safely out of the house before turning back toward Juice’s brother. “You want the Juice and Stiles story, huh?”

“I do!” Roxanne beamed, giving him her rapt attention, she was accompanied by a round of nods from others at the table that had not seen the relationship as it progressed. “Please.”

“All right.” Far be it for him to deny them what they wanted. “Where do you want me to start?”

“Stiles said that Juan Carlos was his sitter first.” Marisol offered him a place to begin. “They went from strangers to that to friends to lovers to husbands.”

“Aye.” That was pretty much how it happened. “Well, strangers to buddies and so on. Piney sort of supervised until we got to know Juice a bit, then he was put on babysitting duty.”

“Not that the supervision was needed. Juice was about a hundred pounds wet when he showed up. A gust of wind would have knocked his skinny ass over.” Tig chuckled. “If he tried anything, all Stiles had to do was kick him in the shin and he would’ve gone down like a sack of potatoes.”

“Why leave them alone together in the first place?”

“Juicy was a bit skittish at the time. Stiles was the least threatening out of all of us.” Stiles was only a boy and in Juice’s eyes that meant he couldn’t be hurt by him. “Stiles had just last his mama and sort of retreated into himself. They were both in pretty bad shape. Piney decided Juice needed a friend to bring him out of his shell a bit, and Stiles needed a project to help him through his grief. We put them together on the off chance that they could help each other, and they did.”

“The first half of that summer, Juice followed Stiles around like a puppy, getting a feel for the club and learning his place.” Gemma put in her own two cents. “The second half was Stiles trailing after Juice.”

“Before he patched SAMCRO, Juice was more or less Stiles babysitter when he would come to town.” There was some friction between the pair when Stiles saw Juice in his prospect kutte for the first time, but they got over that pretty quickly. “When Juice became a full member, most of his time was taken up with club duties or in the garage. When they crossed paths, they would always end up in one conversation or another about video games or computers. They got to know each other more as friends.”

“It stayed that way until some of the guys, including Juice, were locked up for fourteen months. Stiles wrote to almost all of them.” Gemma disclosed and they both knew Clay was the one Son that received nothing from Stiles while he was away. “Other than his brother Jax, Juice was the only one who wrote back. Those letters changed something between them.”

“Their bond, or whatever, became deeper.” It was easier to talk through letters. Writing out your inner thoughts was so much simpler than speaking them aloud. “Stiles started getting these cartoony heart eyes while looking at a piece of paper either coming from Juice or going to him.”

“Juice got the same ones.” Happy muttered, having good authority on it, he shared a cell with Juice those fourteen months. “Never seen him so happy as when he’d get something in the mail.”

“It was a line to the outside world.” Aside from Chibs himself, Stiles was the only one who made the effort to reach out to Juice while he was locked up. “Stiles is one of very few people who can quiet Juice’s mind when it gets loud. It's a two-way street. It’s been that way since the day they met. When Juice was locked up, he needed that and Stiles could give it to him through those letters.”

“Stiles was spending a lot of time in Charming then, more than usual, helping out Jax’s wife Tara with Abel and Thomas, and picking up slack at the garage.” John cut in, unaware that Stiles also helped the club with a few things. “He was on summer break when the guys were released.”

“It all shifted when the guys got out.” Lyla grinned at the memory. “The night I married Opie is the night they really got together.”

“Biblically.” Tig quipped. “Only Juice would dump two croweaters, who were primed and ready to welcome him home, off his lap to go have a chat with Stiles on the roof.”

“What is it with those two and rooftops?” Scott seemed to ask himself more than anything.

“Derek still hasn’t forgiven them for defiling the lofts roof.” Lydia laughed. “They’re not even allowed in the loft by themselves, because he thinks they’ll repeat that performance.”

“They didn’t screw on the roof of the clubhouse.” At least Chibs didn’t think they did that first time, though he knew they had since then. “They talked up there, I assume about their feelings and shit. They waited until the party downstairs had died down, then slipped into the apartment to fuck.”

“The problem was, they slept there and then went for round two in the morning, when they should have been sneaking out.” Tig snorted humorously, remembering the morning after reception given to the boys. “Really, they next morning was their own fault.”

“Alexander,” Venus scowled at her old man. “What did you do?”

“We applauded them for a job well done.” They applauded. They catcalled. They had thoroughly embarrassed those boys.

“It was all fun and games until Clay got all bitchy about it.” Clay had to ruin all the fun. “Had to remind Juice they he was on parole, Stiles was underage and the son of a sheriff.”

“That didn’t really matter though, right?” Ray spoke up, eyeing John with distrust. “You seem pretty okay with their relationship, despite the ten year age difference.”

“I didn’t approve of it for a long time.” What parent would approve of their underage child dating someone who was not only older, but also a felon? “Stiles being upfront about it, not trying to hide it or lie about it, made a big difference. We had a mature and rational discussion about it. And, to be honest, when he told me he was dating a Son, I was just thankful it was the one closer to his age than mine.”

“You never tried to put a stop to it?”

“If they had gone behind my back, kept it from me, then I might have.” As John already stated, that was not the case. “Telling me about it, explaining it to me, showed me they were serious about it and that there were deep feelings involved. I wasn’t happy about it, but I wasn’t going to take that from them.”

“I can’t imagine you were too pleased about them getting married when your boy was only eighteen.” Antonia pointed out in honest curiosity, rather than judgment.

“I’m the one who got them the marriage license.” John admitted to the surprise of about every occupant of the room. “Stiles gave me a convincing argument. So, I got them the license, and Melissa and I witnessed the ceremony.”

“The rest of us didn’t even know they were marred until weeks later.” Lydia grumbled, still a little angry about being kept in the dark, even though it was a long time ago. “Speaking of weddings, they’ve pretty much locked most of us out during the planning of the ceremony for this one as well.”

“They wanted to take care of it themselves, so it didn’t turn into a circus.” John said pointedly to the banshee. “They want to do this their way, not anyone else’s.”

“That’s nice.” The redhead replied a little condescendingly. “But we don’t know anything about what’s going on. They didn’t even send invitations. They just said to be here, tomorrow, by 6:00p.m. Are we all meeting here and then driving to the venue together-“

“This is the venue.” Chibs may have relished the look of annoyance on Lydia’s face just a little too much. “We’re setting up the backyard tomorrow for the ceremony.”

“The backyard is nice.” She approved. Yes, the boys had done a great job cleaning it up. “The woods will make a nice backdrop for the wedding photos.“

“The reception is going to be a big barbecue.” Scott said excitedly. “And they said we didn’t have to wear suits or anything. Dress casually.”

“Do they have an officiant to oversee the ceremony, or are they dressing Chibs up in some robes and getting him ordained online?”

“We put Chibs in some priest’s robes, and neither of them would make it up the aisle. Their hearts would give out at the sight.” Tig joked with a hearty laugh.

“Since it’s a vow renewal ceremony, I wouldn’t have to get ordained.” Technically, anyone could do the ceremony. “They wanted to do it properly this time, so they got a catholic priest to do it.”

“Is Thomas going to be a ring bearer?”

“No.” Both boys had turned down what they deemed a kids role. “Thomas is going to stand at Juice’s side with me, while Abel will stand at Stiles side with John.”

“Not with Scott?” Lydia turned to the alpha in confusion. “You’re not going to be his best man?”

“We talked about it, but we’re not there yet. We’re still trying to get back to being friends.” Scott shrugged nonchalantly but couldn’t mask the hurt expression on his face. “He wanted his dad. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

"Hmm."

* * *

 

Stiles had never done the camp thing, and he couldn’t see how a kid could get into trouble there. It was designed to be fun and educational. It was not restricting enough to have them rebelling against the rules. So, he and Juice were pretty much at a loss as to why the administrator had requested a formal meeting with them.

“Is there a problem with our kids?” Stiles asked as he and his husband sat down in the small office.

“We had some trouble with your son.” She looked down her nose at them, as if they were directly responsible for whatever had happened. “He will not be allowed back here.”

“Which son?” Juice questioned, not the least bit cowed by the woman’s glare. “What did he do?”

“Abel placed a firework in the volcano project he and his partner have been working on.” Her tone was overflowing with disapproval. “Fireworks, explosives of any kind, are explicitly banned for obvious reasons.”

“Was anyone hurt?” The uncle in him wanted to laugh at his nephews antics. Unfortunately, he had to be a parent here. “Was there any property damage?”

“No one was injured. We dealt with the projects outside to avoid a mess.” That meant there was no damage, nothing they would have to pay for. “Someone could have been seriously hurt.”

“We understand.” They would have a long talk with Abel about it when they got home. “What kind of firework was it?”

“Does it matter?” Apparently not, but there was a big different between a sparkler and one that shot up into the sky. “Thomas is more than welcome to come back, but Abel is not. Is that clear?”

“Yes ma’am.”

The boys were waiting for them in the hall as they exited the office. He and Juice pasted on their best stern faces as the four of them walked out of the building, knowing they were being watched the administrator. Neither of them asked any questions about the incident until they were in the car and well on their way back to the house.

“Abel,” Stiles put on his gentle _interrogate the child_ voice as he addressed the kid. “Do you have an explanation for your behavior today? Why did you put a firework in your project?”

“It was a stink bomb.” Abel clarified petulantly, but became delighted when Juice snorted derisively. “Ha! He laughed. I’m not in trouble!”

“That wasn’t a laugh! It doesn’t count!” Juice tried, but they both knew they weren’t getting out of that one. They had a rule that if whatever the kids had done wrong made them laugh, then they were not punished. The catch was, they had to make _both_ of them laugh. “And uncle Stiles didn’t laugh, so you’re still in trouble.”

“Uncle Stiles can’t ground him under the hypocrite clause.” Stiles muttered under his breath, reminding his husband that they could not punish the kids for a stunt they themselves had pulled as children. “It was all on you and you blew it. He gets to walk away without any extra dish duty or lost internet privileges.”

“Ha! Yes!” Abel crowed, fist pumping the air.

“Why did you do it, Abel?” Juice brought them back to what they needed to know, regardless of whether the kid could be grounded or not.

“Camille Mercer dared me to do it.” Of course, it was because of a girl. “She kissed me before the teacher sent me to the office. She wants to go with me to the summer carnival.”

Abel said it with the utmost innocence, but all Stiles could think was his eleven year old just told them he had his first kiss and was asked out on a date. How the hell were they supposed to react to that?

“You….” He couldn’t even form a proper thought. It was just too soon for this. “S-she....”

“Stiles! Foot off the gas!” Juice ordered, not so subtly letting Stiles know he had put his foot down hard on the accelerator in a moment of panic.

“Sorry! Sorry.” He took his foot off just a bit, reducing the speed back to the legal limit. “It’s just…our preteen son just said…”

“I heard him.” There was a note of hysteria in Juice’s voice, which made Stiles feel a little better. He wasn’t the only one thrown off by this. “Abel, what the hell?”

“What?” Yeah, Abel didn’t see anything wrong with what he had told them. Perhaps they were blowing things way out of proportion, or maybe they weren’t. They could not take any chances here.

“Some little girl kissed you and asked you out on a date.” Those were two huge moments in an adolescent’s life. “That’s, uh, that’s- Damn it. Juice, a little help.”

“It’s nice.” His husband told the boy. “But, uh, you’re still young, and it’s a little soon for girlfriends or boyfriends.”

“She just wants to be my friend.” The kid said slowly, as if they were idiots. “Do you think she wants to be my girlfriend? That would be awesome! She’s really pretty and super smart. She’s going to space camp next summer.”

“Wow. That’s, uh, that’s wow.” Now Abel would probably want to go to space camp too, but that wasn’t exactly the problem. “How about you get to know her as a friend first, okay?”

“Can I still go to the summer carnival with her? She said her mom and dad would take us.” He sounded so hopeful, how the hell were they supposed to say no to that?

“Sure, but as friends.” _Friends._ Just friends. He and Juice were so not ready to deal with their kids dating. “We have to meet her parents first.”

“Okay.”

“Well, we know how your day went.” Abel had himself a good day, kicked out of camp or not. “Thomas, how did you like camp today?”

“I was barely there long enough to do anything.” The younger boy replied irritably. “We got through exercises and were just starting the game when you got there.”

“Sorry, chipmunk.” They could have let him finish out the day, but it was easier to bring them both home at once then make two trips. “Don’t be so glum, chum. There are fresh cinnamon rolls at home.”

“Yum!”

“Hey,” Juice tapped a finger against Stiles thigh. “Since we’re alone with them, you wanna have the _dad_ conversation?”

“You want to do that now?” The car was not exactly the best setting for that kind of talk.

“Why not?” Juice shrugged, as if it would be simple and not a life changing discussion. “The longer they have to let it settle in their minds the better.”

“Yeah. Okay.” Why the hell not, right? “Boys, we need to talk to you about something.”

“What now?” Exasperation was heavy in Abel’s tone. “Is someone else you said was dead actually alive?”

“No, it’s nothing like that.” It was obvious the kid was not going to let that one go anytime soon. “Thomas mentioned something to your grandfather the other day and we want to talk about it.”

“What’d you do?” Stiles watched in the rearview mirror as the older boy glared accusingly at his brother.

“Nothing!” Thomas claimed, clearly miffed at being singled out. “I just wanted to know why we can’t call them dad, when they are our dads.”

“You can call us that.” Juice assured them. “If you want to.”

“We want you to know that we aren’t trying to replace your mom and dad. They both loved you very much, and nothing will ever change that.” No matter what, the boys had to know that. “We love you too. We’ve tried really hard to be good parents, good fathers. I know we haven’t always been great at it.”

They had fallen headfirst into parenting without warning. They didn’t have any training. When they started this little family, neither of them was stable enough to care for themselves, let alone two boys. They made mistakes, and would make more, but so did every other parent. They did the best they could under the circumstances and improved as time went on.

“It hasn’t always been great,” Juice agreed solemnly. “But it’s gotten better. We would love to be your dads, if you’ll have us.”

“You’re dumb.” That was deadpanned response their youngest child had for their little speech. “You’re already our dads.”

“Thomas, don’t be rude.” Stiles chided the boy. “We know we’re your dads. We want you to know that it is okay to call us _dad_ if you want to.”

“Do we call both of you dad?” Thomas asked quizzically.

“It could get confusing calling you both dad.” Abel mused. “Maybe we could call one of you _Dad_ and the other _Pop_.”

“Whatever feels comfortable, guys.”

“Uncle Stiles, you’re gonna be _pops_ , since you and uncle Juice call grandpa that, and grandpa’s your dad.” Thomas decided. “Uncle Juice, you’re gonna be _dad_ , okay?”

“Sounds good. What do you think, Abel?”

“Yeah, I like that.”

“Do you ever think,” Stiles spoke lowly to his husband. “Things seem more dramatic to us than they do to them?”

“They’re kids. Shit rolls off right off them.” Oh, to be that young again, and have the ability to shake it all off. “Abel will be a teenager soon enough. We’ll have more drama than we can handle when he hits puberty.”

“Don’t even joke about that.” At least they had a few years before Thomas was there too.

* * *

 

The boys were pretty much bouncing with excess energy by the time they got back to the house. Any annoyance they might have had about leaving camp early was replaced by excitement and enthusiasm. It was unclear whether that switch was because of the conversation they had, if they were just happy to be home, or because they really wanted those cinnamon rolls.

He hoped Stiles was regretting telling Thomas about the treats. The boy was already on a sugar high, if the way he jumped on Juice’s back before they even reached the porch said anything.

“You are getting too old for piggy back rides.” He hooked his arms around the boy’s legs to keep him steady. “And too big.”

“Nu-uh. I’m not big.” Thomas protested, wrapping his arms around Juice’s neck. “You’re strong. I’ve seen you carry uncle Sti- _Pop_ up the stairs. “

“He’s got a point.” Stiles took the kids side rather than offering any assistance. “To be fair, you fireman carry me, and only when I’m too tired to get to bed on my own.”

“Extra strength or not, you’re still heavy, Stiles.” He really wasn’t, but it took more of an effort to carry him up the stairs than it did one of the boys.

“You know, I would say something about your ability to hold me up in certain positions, but there are young ears around us.” Which meant whatever Stiles had to say was dirty and not for a child to hear. “I’ll just keep it to myself, or maybe I’ll tell you later.”

“ _Show_ me later.” He winked in his husband’s direction, earning a coy smile in return.

“I’ll do that.” Stiles promised.

“Stop being gross.” Abel grumbled as he pushed open the front door.

From the sounds of things inside the house, everyone was still gathered in the same place they left them. Laughter echoing off the walls drew them in. It was nice to hear, given all the conflicting personalities in the room, he expected it to be tense and uncomfortable. He had never been so happy to be wrong.

“We all get back from this brawl right. We’re all mostly unscathed, except the two idiots who went into the fight already hurt, Chibby and Juice.” Tigs voice, full of mirth, is what they were greeted with as they walked into the kitchen. “Tara checks out Chibs, he’s fine, not even a concussion. Juicy, on the other hand, popped some stitches. Tara decides to use it as a learning experience and teaches Stiles how to do stitches using Juice as a dummy. We all figured out that if the good doctor and baby bro teamed up, it was better to shut up and listen or suffer the consequences.”

“Suffer is right. I didn’t even get anesthetic.” Juice recalled as he set Thomas down on the floor. “A single swig of whiskey was all I got before she let Stiles take a needle to me.”

“It was supposed to be a warning. When someone tells you to stay put, to prevent you from injuring yourself further, then you stay put.” Stiles lectured as if the incident happened yesterday, not over ten years ago. “You had just been released from the hospital. You had no place in a brawl. That goes for you too, Chibs. You were the one touch and go for a while, with swelling in your brain. If someone hit you the wrong way or –“

“Yes, _Dad_ , we get it.” Chibs waved him off and rolled his eyes. “Juicy and I were bad boys. You and the doc felt fit to punish us.”

“Why didn’t you use the hypocrite clause?” Abel asked as he grabbed a clean plate from the cupboard.

“The what?” Chibs furrowed his brows at the boy.

“It doesn’t apply to that situation. I never went into a fight with a pre-existing injury.” Stiles informed his son only to be met with major side-eye from Juice, his dad, and the pack members present. “At that point, I hadn’t. Stop looking at me like that.”

“What is a hypocrite clause?” Felix questioned curiously.

“It’s how Abel got out of trouble today.” Juice shot the boy a halfhearted scowl. “If one of us has done the same thing that one of the boys did to get in trouble, then we can’t ground them. Unless, it’s something really serious or illegal.”

“What’d you do, Abel?”

“We’ve been working on volcano projects all summer. When mine erupted the stink bomb I put inside of it went off too.” The older boy grinned proudly. “I can’t go back to camp, but I can’t get into trouble either, because of the hypocrite clause and the laughter clause.”

“I guess that means you laughed, Juice.” His father-in-law surmised. “I remember Stiles pulling a similar stunt in sixth grade. It got him more than kicked out of camp.”

“I used a fountain firework, and it was in the auditorium not outdoors.” Stiles didn’t even try to look ashamed by his past behavior. “I got expelled from school for that.”

“I don’t remember anyone getting expelled from our junior high.” Lydia commented as ambled over and handed her baby off to Stiles. “Say hello.”

“Hey gorgeous.” Stiles blew raspberries against the baby’s cheek, before returning to the conversation. “I was at Beacon Hills Academy at the time, not the junior high.”

“What’s that?” Juice had never heard of Beacon Hills Academy.

“It’s a private school for the gifted.” Scott explained. “I forgot you went there, Stiles.”

"I wasn’t there long. I hated it.” The younger man grimaced at the memory. “Being a kid there on scholarship didn’t make me any friends.”

“You got into Beacon Hills Academy?” There was only the barest hint of disbelief in the banshee’s voice, but it aggravated Juice anyway.

“Why does that shock you?” He spoke defensively before his husband could get a word in edge wise. “He got into the same Ivy League schools you did, and some you didn’t, but it’s a surprise he got into some fancy private school here?”

“No. It shocks me because when I applied there, all the available spots were full.” She stated calmly, not the least bit perturbed by his outburst. “I know Stiles is smart, you don’t need to tell me. It is adorable watching you get all huffy when you stand up for him, though.”

“Shut up.” He muttered sarcastically, turning away to pour himself a cup of coffee.

“Juan Carlos got into MIT when he was sixteen.” Marisol reported sounding like the proud big sister she was.

“I didn’t go.” He may have wanted to, in another life, but at sixteen the only thing he wanted was to get high and forget the damage he had done to his family. He had applied to MIT in a rare sober moment. He never expected to get in. “I could have.”

“Yeah, we know you’re really smart too.” He was met with a smile from the redhead when he faced them again. “We’ve seen what you can do with a computer.”

“Fun fact,” Stiles placed a warm hand on the small of his back. “The computer thing is what cemented my crush on you when I was a kid.”

“Really?” He hadn’t known that.

“I came into the clubhouse one day and you had a bunch of computer components strewn about.” That was an exaggeration. Juice did not just ‘strew’ things about. There was a method to his madness. “I asked what you were doing and you said you were _building_ a computer, then proceeded to spout off a bunch of technical terms I didn’t understand at the time.”

“You don’t understand them now.” Seriously, he had done roughly the same thing a few months ago, built himself a personal computer out of spare parts he had from old ones. He tried explaining the process to Stiles as he was doing so, but it caused his husbands eyes had glass over, and then they ended up naked.

“Oh, I understand them. They just bring about a very different reaction now.” Stiles teased as he leaned in to place a sloppy kiss to his cheek.

“They make you gag, don’t they?” Tig jested good-naturedly.

“I think they’re cute.” Roxanne said affectionately.

“Hey,” Thomas tugged at Juice’s shirt. “Who are they?”

“That’s my family.” He probably should have done introductions when they came in. ”My other family. My brothers and sisters, and my mom.”

“Who’s she?” The boy gestured to the singular woman Juice had not pointed out.

“I’m your grandma.” Gemma offered the boy a loving smile. “I haven’t seen you since you were a baby. Both of you have gotten so big.”

“She’s Gemma.” Abel corrected, taking a protective stance in front of his little brother. “We don’t have to call her grandma, Tommy. She’s not our grandma. She’s just Gemma.”

“Abel.” The woman bristled at her oldest grandsons words.

“ _Gemma._ ” The adult Stilinski men warned her off.

“Dad,” Thomas pulled at Juice’s hand once again. “Gonna go play outside, ‘kay?”

“Go ahead.” The less time the boys spent in Gemma’s presence the better. “Take your food with you. You can eat on the deck.”

“Can we take the baby with us?” Abel looked to Lydia hopefully. The kids had taken a shine to the banshee’s daughter.

“Finish your food and then I’ll bring her out to you.” Lydia ruffled the boy’s hair. “I might have to fight your uncle Stiles to get her back.”

“He’s not uncle Stiles anymore.” The older boy informed her as he and Thomas headed for the back door. “He’s _Pop_ and uncle Juice is _Dad_.”

“Good to know. I’ll adjust my vocabulary in regards to them accordingly.” She took the change in stride, receiving matching grins from the boys before they were both out the door.

“I guess you had that talk.” John mused thoughtfully.

“Yep.” They had the talk and it went a hell of a lot smoother than they thought it would.

“You two are just full of surprises.” Gemma sneered. “Turning my grandsons against me is something I should have seen coming.”

“We didn’t do anything. Abel remembered what you did.” Abel still had nightmares about it sometimes. He would wake up in a cold sweat with visions of his mother being murdered by his grandmother. “He told Thomas, the same way he told Jax. They’re reacting the way any child would.”

“We didn’t poison their minds or turn them against you.” Manipulating people was Gemma’s shtick, not theirs. “You did that all on your own, Mama Gemma.”

The _Mama Gemma_ quip was enough to relax Juice. It showed him that Stiles was finally out of the funk he had been stuck in. Now, he was back to throwing pot shots at the older woman. Whatever John had said to him, had shown him, obviously resonated.

“You are a miracle worker.” He praised his father-in-law.

“I know my son.” John said, catching the meaning behind the gratitude. “I knew he would need evidence to back up that truth. He’s always been that way. When your kid’s first word is _‘why’_ you know he’s going to be an inquisitive brat, who won’t take anything or anyone at face value.”

“Somehow, your first word being ‘ _why’_ fits you perfectly.” Melissa chuckled at Stiles.

“What was Juice’s?” John asked Juice’s mother.

“ _'Mama.'_ ” Ray answered for her. “Probably.”

“It was ‘ _no_.’” His mom corrected. “You should remember that, Ray, he said it to you. Screamed it at you, actually.”

“Well, he always was an argumentative shithead.” The lack of heat behind his older brothers words made it seem more like a compliment than a jab.

“And you’ve always been a dick.” Felix tossed the insult at Ray.

“Felix.” Their mother chastised. “I would like my _sons_ to get along for just a few days. I know it’s hard for you three-“

“I haven’t done anything.” Juice argued against being lumped with his brothers. “I’ve been a very gracious host.”

“You’ve barely been here.” Marianna said pointedly.

“That’s my fault. Sorry.” Stiles ducked his head. “Had some unexpected family drama.”

“Not your fault.” Juice whispered in his husband’s ear, not wanting him to feel guilty about something he had no control over. “I’m here now, Marianna. You all seemed to be getting along just fine without me.”

“Your friends were telling us stories of your time in their motorcycle club.” Roxanne smirked knowingly, making him wonder exactly what they had been told.

“Shit.”

“We’ve been telling the ones we have of Stiles too.” Tig relayed, as if they made it any better. “Scott and John have been adding their own stories of the boy.”

“Ah crap.” Stiles groaned and scrubbed a hand down his face. “The fuck, Scotty? You’re supposed to have my back.”

“They have worse stories of you than I do.” Scott referred to the Sons. “Mine are tame compared to the ones they’ve been telling.”

“That is awesome.” This could only end in tears or embarrassment, or quite possibly both.

“We haven’t even gotten to the good stuff yet.” Tig warned. “Like when Juicy gave crank to a rabid Doberman.”

“It was an honest mistake.”

“Like hell it was.” Clearly, Tig was still sour about the bite to the ass he received from that incident. “He’s supposed to knock this dog out, right.”

And just like that they were engrossed in tales of Juice and Stiles past. Fucking fantastic.

* * *

 

Things finally began to wrap up a little after eight that night. The various club and pack members had filtered out. Ray and Roxanne went off to their hotel. Those who were staying the night were scattered about the living room and kitchen.

His dad was on the loveseat with Melissa beside him, chatting with Juice’s sisters. Abel was half-asleep at Juice’s side on the couch, struggling to stay awake while talking to Antonia. Juice himself was shooting the shit with his younger brother. Stiles was in the recliner, with a sleeping Thomas curled up on his lap.

“You’ve done good with them.” Gemma said quietly from the armchair next to him.

“Your praise only makes you seem suspicious.” He repeated what he had told her the day before. She sighed tiredly and looked away. He couldn’t help but take a moment to look at her, to really look. It made him hurt just a bit to see what he found.

Even with all the makeup she painted on, he could still see the heavy layer of grief. The loss of her children, being locked away and exiled from what was left of her family, was clearly written on her face and in her posture. She tried to hide it, to act like she was the same woman she had been all those years ago, but she wasn’t. He saw that. He hated that he wanted to make some of her pain go away, for whatever reason.

“Damn it.” He muttered to himself and eyed his husband. “Juice.”

“Yeah?” The other man broke off the conversation he was in to address him.

“Let’s put these kids to bed, huh?” They could get the kids down for the night, and then he could deal with Gemma.

“Yep. Come on, buddy.” His husband roused the older boy at his side. “Time for bed.”

“Not tired.” Abel murmured through a yawn.

“Liar.” Stiles accused as he stood from his chair, bringing Thomas with him.

“We have big day tomorrow.” Juice helped their oldest up and off the couch. “Bed time.”

Stiles carried Thomas up the stairs while his husband ushered Abel behind him. Once in the child’s bedroom, he woke the younger boy long enough to get him changed into his pajamas before helping him into bed.

“You want a story, chipmunk?” He asked as he pulled the covers up and around the boy.

“Not tonight.” He was nearly asleep already, wouldn’t even make it through the first few pages if Stiles did pull out a book. “Tomorrow, I can read to you while you make breakfast, ‘cause I didn’t get to today. Okay?”

“Okay.” It seemed like an odd compromise, but it was kind of a Stilinski family tradition.

When Stiles was little, back when it was just he and his dad, the only time they really had to spend together was during breakfast and dinner. To help Stiles learn to read, his dad would teach him while he was cooking. Once he got the hang of it, he would read to his dad while he was preparing their meal, if he struggled with a word, his dad would be right there to help him. It went on like that until his mom got sick and his dad started taking more shifts at the station. Now, he did it with his boys.

“Love you, chipmunk.”

“Love you to, Pop.” Something told him Thomas was going to wear out those new names, but fuck if he didn’t like hearing it.

“Sleep tight.”

He made sure the nightlight was plugged in before turning off the lamp and leaving the room. He left the door open and walked across the hall to Abel’s room, listening in on the conversation he was having with Juice.

“I like your mom.” The boy said sincerely as he climbed into bed. “She’s really nice.”

“She’s great.” Juice agreed, taking a seat on the edge of the mattress.

“She’s like a real mom.” Abel sniffled sadly. “Do you miss her, ‘cause she lives so far away?”

“Yeah, I do.” It had gotten better for Juice now that he could talk to his mom on the phone whenever he wanted, and even video chatted with her once a week. “Do you miss your mom and dad?”

“I miss mom more.” He admitted shamefully. “Is that…is that bad?”

“No. That’s not bad, buddy.” Juice reassured him.

“I remember her more than I remember him.” Of course he did. Tara had been there when Jax wasn’t. “She didn’t want to leave us. He did.”

“I don’t think that’s true. Jax- your dad, he didn’t want to leave you.” His husband told their son. “He just didn’t know how to live in this world anymore, or live with himself.”

“He should have tried, for us. We should have been enough.”

“You were more than enough. Sometimes things get so bad, and our heads gets so loud and confused, that we don’t see the good things in our lives. The only thing we see is the damage. The damage done to us and that we’ve done to others.” Juice was trying to use his own experience to help the boy understand Jax’s mindset at the time of his death. “We think the people we love would be better off without us. We can’t hurt them if we’re gone. We make a choice based on that, rather than the truth. Your dad made a choice, not because he didn’t love you, but because he thought everyone would be better off without him.”

“He hurt people. He hurt you.” Abel stated critically. “The last time I saw him, I heard him tell grandpa that uncle Stile- _Pop_ was gonna hate him forever because he hurt you.”

“I did some bad things. I hurt my friends. Jax punished me for it.” Stiles wanted to cut in, to tell Abel that what Jax did was inexcusable, but Juice did it for him. “It wasn’t right. I knew that then, but I thought I deserved it, so I took the punishment. I understood why it happened. Even now I can understand why he wanted that for me.”

“Why did he?”

“He was in a really bad place after your mom died. He was very angry. He was in pain.” When Jax was in pain, he needed other people to be in pain too. “He thought hurting someone else would make him feel better. He chose me, because I was the weak link. I betrayed him. I understood it, but that doesn’t make it right.”

“Do you forgive him?” The boy questioned cautiously.

“Sometimes.” It would have been easy to say yes, if only to put the child’s mind at ease, but when it came to things like this, they had to be honest. “For some of it.”

“Pop, do you forgive him?” Abel directed the question at him this time, catching sight of him in the doorway.

“No.” He should have lied, gone with Juice’s answer, but Abel would have seen right through it. “There are things I can’t forgive him for. I know how bad that sounds, and I’m sorry. We hold the people closest to us to a certain standard, and when they hurt us, it’s harder to forgive them because you trusted them not to. No, I don’t forgive him, but I still love him, and I miss him every day.”

“I miss him too.” The boy confessed as he rested his head on his pillow. “But if Tommy and I can’t have mom, then I’m glad we have you guys. You take care of us. He never really knew how.”

“We didn’t either.” They were completely out of their element when they became parents.

“You learned. You stayed.” To the kid that meant more than what Jax had given him. “He didn’t do that. I’m not glad he’s gone, but even if he was alive, I would still want to be with you guys. You’re our dads. You were always supposed to be.”

“We love you, Abel.” A stray tear may or may not have slid down Stiles cheek at his sons words.

“I love you too.” Abel smiled up at them as he reached over to turn off his bedroom lamp. “Now go away. I’m sleeping.”

“Go away?” Juice croaked, standing up from the bed. “You make us cry and then say ‘go away?’”

“It’s a good cry!” The boy argued.

“Yeah, it is.” They chuckled and made their way to the door. “Night, Son.”

“Night.”

There was nothing he and Juice could really do but wipe away the evidence of tears as they shuffled back down the stairs. Their oldest sure knew how to pack an emotional punch and then turn them away as if it were nothing.

“Hold on,” Juice put a steadying hand on his shoulder as they reached the bottom step. “When that started, I didn’t think there could be any way it could end but in sadness and confusion.”

“I thought there would be gross sobbing and questions we didn’t know how to answer.” He did not really think there was anything that could have prepared them for such a delicate topic of conversation, but he thought they handled it well. “It makes sense, I guess. Those kids never go by the script I have written in my head.”

“Is it possible that we’ve managed to teach them to think and react differently than we do?”

“Why the hell would we do that? The decisions we’ve made based on our crippling anxiety have worked out pretty well for us.” The boys are all hopeful and optimistic. He didn’t know where the hell they got it from.

“Everything okay?” His dad inquired.

“Yep.” Just some emotionally titillating conversation with the kids. He let that go, or tried to, as he looked to Gemma. “Let’s talk.”

“Talk?” She eyed him dubiously.

“Talk.” He jerked his head toward the kitchen. “Let’s go.”

The Telford’s were all crowded around the kitchen, talking amongst themselves, so Stiles took Gemma out to the back door. They crossed the yard and made their way down a rock path that led to small creek on the edge of their property. He kept his back to her as he sat on the forest floor. He was giving her a choice. She could use the time to make a run for it. She could grab one of the bigger rocks to bash him over the head. Or, she could sit down beside him. He tried not to act surprised when she chose the latter.

“Tomorrow is supposed to be a do-over for Juice and I.” He dipped his hands in the shallow water, just to have something to do. “When we did this the first time, we were trying to hold on to something we didn’t think we’d get to keep. Tomorrow, it’s different. We get to have a future together. Instead of having a few days or weeks, we’ll have a lifetime. That’s what tomorrow is about.”

“That’s sweet.”

“We know bringing people together can cause some friction. Different backgrounds and different personalities.” There was bound to be some conflict. “I never really factored you into it. You or your truth.”

“I didn’t choose to be here. I didn’t escape and come knocking at your door.” The hospital made that decision, not her. “And you asked for that truth.”

“I asked for the truth about Henry.” He did not want the rest of us, he didn’t need it. “You could have told me JT killed him and let it drop. You didn’t have to tell me about the fudged paternity test. If I had asked why you gave me away, then you would have had to tell me about Henry. It doesn’t work both ways.”

“You did ask me, though. You asked me why you weren’t worthy.” Gemma reminded him of that day at Nate’s house, before Wayne and Jax had shown up. “I didn’t get the chance to answer.”

“You thought yesterday was a great day to do it.” That was after she had secured herself a spot at the wedding. She knew they were going to be happy, with her there for not, and she had to shit all over it. “It doesn’t matter. You were wrong. I’m not Clay’s kid, biologically or otherwise.”

“I never wanted to be right. I never wanted you to be Clay’s child.” He snorted in disbelief. He could remember how she was with Clay. There was no reason for her not to want a child with him. “I wasn’t delusional. I knew what Clay was. He was a man who would kill his best friend to keep his club alive.”

“You are the woman who helped kill your husband, the father of your children, to keep that club alive.”

“And Johnny, your daddy, is the kind of man who kept a childhood promise he made to his dying best friend.” She smiled softly, like she was sharing a secret. “He was a good man, and you needed one parent that didn’t have blood on their hands. You had to be his and you were.”

“It was a stroke of luck that it turned out that way. A one night stand versus your husband…” The fates did him the biggest favor by allowing him to beat the odds in the genetics lottery. “What was the promise he kept?”

“When Nathaniel went into the hospital for the last time, he made your dad swear that he would name his first child after him. He meant it more as a joke. I don’t think he ever intended for your dad to follow through.” He did follow through. He kept that promise, his best friends dying wish. “That is why you were named Nathaniel and not Henry.”

“What would you have named me?” It would not have been Nathaniel, that name had already been taken. “If you had kept me, I mean. I know you got Thomas Wayne from JT and Unser. Jackson Nathaniel was your brother’s first and middle names swapped around. Who would I be then?”

“I don’t know.” She shook her head. “I never thought about it. By the time I knew you were a boy, I had already decided to give you to Johnny. It was his place to name you, not mine.”

She had not thought about it all. Stiles had watched Donna, Wendy, and Tara name their children long before they became aware of the sexes. They had lists of boys and girls names to choose from. They spent weeks, even months, searching for the perfect one. Gemma hadn’t done that with him.

“You never wanted me, did you?” She had given him away out of guilt, she had said as much the previous day, but that didn’t mean that was all of it. “That day in the old clubhouse, you said I was only born because it was too late to abort me. That was the truth.”

“No. It wasn’t the truth.” She said forcefully, reaching over to take his hand in hers. “I had fourteen years with my brother. I only had six with my Thomas. I was lucky with Jackson, he was born sick too, with the heart defect, but it didn’t take him the way it took them. I didn’t think I could get lucky twice. There were so many complications when I was pregnant with you. I nearly miscarried twice. I knew you would be sick too, the same way your brothers and uncle were. I could not watch another child die. I couldn’t.”

“I didn’t die. I wasn’t sick.” Stiles and his Thomas were the only ones in their family line born without it holes in their hearts. “You knew that before I ever left the hospital.”

“It didn’t seem real. Everyone in our family, until you, was born with that defect. I thought maybe the doctors made a mistake.” He could understand that, but at the same time, she should have known his father never would have let him leave the hospital without being absolutely sure. “By the time it finally clicked that you were healthy, that you would live a long and full life, the damage had already been done.”

“When was that, Gem?” When did she realize he would not be going away?

“It was little bits at a time. The first time I saw you with Jax you were a year old. You looked so much like my Thomas, only with brown hair instead of blond. The way you held yourself, even at that age…it was all Jax. I didn’t know what any of that meant.” It meant that he resembled his brothers, nothing more. She was assuming his resemblance to Thomas sealed his fate, but his resemblance to Jax countered that. “The more I saw you, the more I saw your strength. When I finally realized how healthy you were, it was too late. You already had mother.”

“And we know how well you took that.” It was all snarky comments and untrusting glances thrown his mother’s way up until she died, and then Gemma made her move. “The day you gave me that truth…it wasn’t the worst day of my life, but it still rates in the top ten.”

“You are always going to hate me for that.” In all fairness, she had never apologized for it, nor had she tried to justify it. That left him with nothing to do but hate. “Not that I blame you.”

“Even if you gave me the best reasoning in the world and I understood it, I still wouldn’t be able to forgive you. It’s just not who I am.” He must have been absent the day they were handing out forgiving natures. “I understand a lot of the things you have done. I can see how you made the decision to kill Tara-“

“It wasn’t a decision. It just happened.”

“I can understand how it happened. That is what scares me.” He could see himself making similar decisions to protect someone he loved. It frightened him to know how far he was willing to go, and knowing he got that trait from her. “I can understand it, but I can’t forgive it.”

“Forgiveness was never my strong suit either.” Yet another thing he picked up from watching her.

“Juice said that he forgave Jax for some of the things he did.” He could not begin to fathom which crimes Juice was willing to let go, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to. “I can’t forgive you, but I’m going to take a play from his book.”

“What does that mean?”

“I want to wake up tomorrow morning and know it’s going to be one of the best days of my life. I want to be with my family and friends, and be happy. I don’t want to be constantly looking over my shoulder for a threat, for you.” He did not want to be getting dressed or to be standing at the altar wondering if she had cornered one of his children or ran off. “You’re not my mom, but tomorrow, I need you to act like you are.”

“What does that mean, Stiles?” She repeated hesitantly.

“I need us both to stow our shit with each other. Just for one day.” One day of peace, that was all he wanted. “No escape attempts. No bullshit. Just one day, Gemma, please. I’ve never asked you for anything, but I’m asking for this.”

“Okay.” She said it like a promise and he wanted so much to believe her. “I won’t delude myself into thinking you’re going to let your guard down, but at least pass the reins to someone else tomorrow. Let them watch me. Have your day.”

“I’ll do that.” He was going to have a pack member and someone from SAMCRO keep an eye on her. “We should head back. Big day tomorrow. I need my beauty sleep.”

* * *

 

The backyard was ready. The arch was in place, the chairs were set. The guests had arrived and were milling about the house.

John and Melissa were in the study, attempting to wrangle the boys. Getting them to stay still long enough to get them ready for the day was harder than they thought it would be.

“Thomas, come on, kiddo.” All he was trying to do was get the boy’s bow tie on. “This is the third time I’ve put this on you.”

“I don’t like it.” The kid moved his hands up to pull at his collar again. “It’s stuffy.”

“It’s only for a little while.” He glanced toward Melissa to see if she was having better luck with Abel. “How’s it going over there?”

“This is dumb.” Abel slumped his shoulders but diligently allowed Melissa to get the tie in place. “These make us look stupid.”

“They make you look very handsome.” Melissa corrected. “Consider yourself lucky, your dads could have made you wear tuxedos, and those are really stuffy.”

Tuxedos were out of the question for everyone, they were too fancy for Stiles and Juice’s tastes. The grooms had decided to wear nice black jeans, white dress shirts, waistcoats, and ties. That was about as formal as the attire would get. Chibs was dressing similar to them, but with his kutte rather than a vest. John would be closer to the kids, in slacks and a dress shirt.

“If you keep that on, Thomas, I will make sure you get an extra piece of cake at the reception.” John was not above bribery. “Be good for Melissa, I’ve gotta go check on Stiles.”

He found his son alone in the upstairs bedroom. He was standing in front of the full-length mirror, buttoning up his waistcoat.

“Where’s your tie?” He asked as he joined his son in the room, startling the younger man.

“Over there.” Stiles waved hand to the dresser. “I don’t know how to tie it.”

“I’m aware.” If Stiles had to go to court for work, he would show up at John’s house early in the morning so he could help him put it on. “Am I going to have to promise you an extra piece of cake too? Or are you going to stay still while I do this?”

“I’ll be still.” Stiles promised as John grabbed the tie off the dresser. “The kids good to go?”

“Yep.” He moved the fabric around his son’s neck. “We’re waiting on you and Juice.”

“I’m almost ready.” For the first time since all of this started, he sounded nervous. John had been wondering when that was going to happen.

“Are you okay?” He urged his son to speak while he fastened the tie as he had done plenty of times before. “You look a little shaky.”

“I’m good.” He didn’t doubt that but there was still an underlying hint of anxiety there. “I’m not shaky, just over caffeinated.”

“It’s okay to be nervous.” He was when he married Claudia. “It’s to be expected. Wedding day jitters.”

“It’s a vow renewal. People get jitters because they’re terrified of making that lifelong commitment to each other.” That was true, even in a time where divorce was almost trendy. “Juice and I made that commitment to each other already.”

“You have, but now you are doing it in front of your friends and family.” The threat of death wasn’t looming over their heads this time either.

“Stage fright has never been a problem before.”

“First time for everything.” He smiled and straightened the silk around his son’s neck then took a step back so Stiles could see himself in the mirror once again. “There you go.”

“Thanks.” He seemed surprised by what he found as he gave his reflection a once-over. “Dad?”

“What is it, son?” His boy’s voice sounded so tired and small, nothing like it should on his wedding day.

“I, uh,” His eyes glistened with unshed tears. “I wish Mom was here.”

“I do too.” This was a moment he should have been sharing with her. “She would have liked Juice.”

“They would’ve gotten along really well.” They were both free spirits.

“I have something for you.” He removed an antique pocket watch from his pants pocket. “The watch itself was your grandfather Henry’s. His father gave it to him. On the back, it’s engraved with _Love, Papa._ I think it was passed down a couple generations. I never got a chance to ask.”

“It’s beautiful.” Stiles admired as John handed it over to him, allowing him to run his fingers over the aged silver.

“There was no chain when I got it. I don’t know what happened to it.” It was easy to see, just by looking at it, that the chain connected to it was not the original. “Your mom always wore this old bracelet that Mieczysław and Phoebe had given to her after her adoption was finalized. The charm had broken off when she was a teenager, but she still treated it like it was something precious.”

“I think I can remember her wearing it.” Recognition flickered across his sons features. “I asked her about it once. She said it was special to her.”

“Not long after she moved in with us, she took the bracelet off and used it to make a chain for that watch.” It was symbolic to them. Her parents gave it to her when they brought her in to their family. She gave it to him when she joined his. “I wore it when I married her. I thought you could wear it today. That way you have a piece of both of them, of your granddad and your mom.”

“Thank you.” Stiles held the pocket watch close to him. “I’ll give it back after the ceremony.”

“No, you won’t. It’s yours now.“ It was time for it to be passed down. “You’ll give it to Abel or Thomas when they’re old enough.”

* * *

 

He was dressed, ready to go. All he had to do was wait. He let Stiles have the privacy of their bedroom, while he had used the downstairs bathroom to get himself together. Once he was finished, he had retreated to the living room where his family was gathered.

“Why aren’t you wearing suits?” Roxanne questioned as his mother licked her palm and smoothed down his hair, which hadn’t been sticking up to begin with.

“Not really our style.” Neither of them liked dressing up, but if they had to, this was as close as they were going to get. “I was in jeans and a hoodie the last time around.”

“This is a step up.” His mom chuckled, checking the buttons on his waistcoat for the third time since he had left the safety of the bathroom. “Just need one more thing.”

“I have everything.” He had gone over the list multiple times in his head. He had every single thing he could possibly need.

“I was talking about this.” She unclasped the necklace she was wearing and held it out to him, letting him see the cross that hung from it.

“I’m not taking your necklace, Mama.” It was a sweet gesture, but he could not accept it.

“This one isn’t mine.” She turned the pendant over to show him the initials etched into the back, _JCO._ “It’s yours. Mine is in my jewelry box at home.”

“That’s not possible.” She had given each of her children one after their first communion. They all had their initials engraved on the back. His was lost a long time ago. “Mama, I pawned mine when I was fifteen.”

“I know you did.” She clipped it around his neck even as he tried to duck away. “Your brother saw you. He bought it back, and brought it to me so I could give it back to you when the time was right. At the time, I thought that would be when you were being dressed for your funeral.”

“I’m sorry.” Had he stayed in Queens, she would have been right, and that necklace would have been buried in his casket with him. “Angelo bought it back?”

“Why would you assume it was Angelo?” Felix asked in mock offense. “I could have done it.”

“You were a broke thirteen year old.” There was no way it could have been Felix.

“It was Ray.” His mother told him.

“Ray.” He turned his gaze to his oldest brother, who kept a blank mask in place. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” He brushed it off as if it meant nothing.

Before he could express his gratitude further, there was a rap of knuckles against the front door followed quickly by it opening. Lyla came through, flashing an apologetic smile for interrupting.

“Hey, come in.” He insisted, noticing the stack of pictures in her hands. “You found it?”

“Mary did.” She made her way to him and handed over the photographs. “I didn’t want to waste time going through Opie’s things. She remembered finding extras in Piney’s stuff. She didn’t know which one you wanted. She was kind of surprised you knew about them, though. They were taken a couple years before your time in Charming.”

“I saw them when Stiles and I were going through boxes of photos, trying to find some picture of Jax for the kids.” He had only caught a glimpse, and had no idea which box they ended up in. In an effort to retrieve one in particular before the wedding, he asked someone else who had access to copies. “I’m sorry I asked you to do it. I know it was weird for you.”

“Asking me for pictures of my dead husbands wedding to his first wife? Not weird at all.” She smiled sadly. “It would be weirder if they were divorced. She died. I never villainized her or anything. Can I ask why you want them?”

“There is one in here somewhere,” He sorted through the photos until he came across the right one. “Aha, see, there it is.”

“Oh my god.” Lyla gushed at the picture. “That’s adorable.”

It was a candid of Jax, Opie, and mini-Stiles, from over twenty years ago. They were all dressed up and wearing kuttes. It was the three of them together, and the expressions on their faces, that struck by beauty look, that made the picture perfect.

“Yeah, that’s the one.” Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the person who would give it to the one who needed it, trying to sneak up the stairs. “Gemma.”

“Yeah?” She faltered on the first step.

“You should give this to Stiles.” He all but shoved the photograph into her hands, not letting her have a chance to say no. “He should have it today.”

“I may not have been around the last six years, but even I know he's conflicted about them at best.” Yeah, that wasn’t hard to pick up on if you knew Stiles. “Why would want them in his head today?”

“I want him to have his brothers. If they were alive, he would want them here.” Since Stiles was born, he had been there for Jax and Opie whenever they needed him. That included attending their weddings, even if he didn’t quite agree with who they were marrying. “We can’t exactly resurrect them. This is the best I can do.”

“And why do you want _me_ to give it to him?”

“You’re playing the good mother today.” It was the agreement she had made with Stiles. “Go play the good mother.”

“Yeah. Okay.” She kissed his cheek. “I’m glad you’re with my boy.”

“Me too.” He tried to ignore the fact that she probably said that to Tara at some point, and maybe even Wendy. “We’ll be starting soon. Go give that to Stiles, please.”

“Take a hike, Gem.” Chibs ordered gruffly as he came into the room. “Can we get a minute? In private.”

He watched Gemma walk up the stairs as Chibs led him out of the room and into the blessedly empty kitchen. His eyes roamed Juice’s face, searching for something before it landed on his neck. He was caught on the chain of the necklace, and Juice just knew he was remembering a time when he found Juice with another kind of chain.

“I wonder sometimes, what would have happened if Jax and I had just stripped your patch after we found out.” Chibs brushed a finger over the spot where the bruises once stood out prominently on his tan skin. “Would you still be here? Would this be your life?”

“If you and Jax had done that, I would have been right back in those woods.” He wasn’t strong enough then. He wouldn’t have survived without the club. “That kutte, the club, it was all I had. If you had taken that away…I would have had nothing.”

“It wasn’t all you had.” Objectively, he knew he had Chibs, given how hard the Scot had tried to keep his head above water, but that did not really register at the time. “You never should’ve worn that kutte to begin with. I never should have sponsored you.”

“I wasn’t SAMCRO material.” The only reason Clay allowed him to prospect was because his hacking skills proved beneficial, and they needed the manpower with Opie in jail and Kyle Hobart excommunicated.

“You were a child.” He was barely twenty at the time, only a boy in Chibs mind. “You deserved better.”

“No, I didn’t.” He had done awful things before he ended up in Charming. He didn’t deserve the kindness they had shown him then. “The fact that you think I did means everything.”

“Come here, kid.” Chibs cupped his hand around the nape of his neck and brought him into a fierce hug. “I love you, brother.”

“I love you.”

* * *

 

Standing in front of their family and friends would have been intimidating had his attention not been entirely on his husband. The younger man stood quietly across from him, a peaceful grin on his lips, while the priest led them through the opening prayer, the blessing, and up to the vows, when it was their turn to speak.

“I, Mieczysław Nathaniel Thomas Stilinski, take you Juan Carlos Ortiz Stilinski,” It was a little odd to hear the Ortiz tacked on, considering how long it had been since he had used it, but he knew it out of respect for his family more than anything. “To be my husband. I promise to be true to you in good times, in sickness and in health. I will love and honor you all the days of my life.”

“I, Juan Carlos Ortiz Stilinski, take you Mieczysław Nathaniel Thomas Stilinski to be my husband.” There was a round of chuckles from the audience in regards to the mouthful of names they were both strapped with. “I promise to be true to you in good times, in sickness and in health. I will love and honor you all the days of my life.”

“Mieczysław, do you-“

“I’m sorry, Father.” Chibs interjected. “Juan Carlos isn’t finished saying his vows yet.”

“He’s not?” Stiles raised his brows at the Scot.

“I’m not?” He cast a suspicious glance over his shoulder to see what the hell his best man was talking about.

“You know what you’re supposed to say, Juicy.” He did know, the priest had told them, and he had already said it.

“What are you…” He started before recognizing the teasing grin on Chibs lips from the one he had seen on Jax’s face at Opie and Lyla’s wedding. “Are you serious?”

“Aye. It’s tradition.” A _Sons of Anarchy_ tradition and the last time he checked he was no longer affiliated with them. “Say it.”

“I’m not a member-“

“Doesn’t matter.”

“My mom is here.” He did not want to say _that_ in front of her or Stiles dad.

“I don’t care. Say it.”

“But-“

“Say it, Juicy boy.”

“Fuck. I’m sorry.” He apologized to the priest and his mother before returning his focus to his husband. “I promise to treat you as good as my leather...”

“And?” The Sons in attendance all urged him on.

“And ride you as much as my Harley.” Hoots and hollers erupted loudly form the Charming crowd, making him flush red, unlike Stiles who didn’t seem to mind at all.

“Well, you don’t wear much leather anymore.” Stiles smirked playfully. “As for the Harley, I hope I get ridden more than once a month.”

“Stiles.” John admonished with a long-suffering sigh.

“Carry on, Father.” Chibs motioned toward the bible in the priests hands. “Please.”

“Mieczysław Nathaniel, do you take Juan Carlos as your lawful husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and cherish until death do you part?”

“I do.”

“Juan Carlos, do you take Mieczysław Nathaniel as your lawful husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and cherish until death do you part?”

“I do.”

* * *

 

Choosing to have a barbecue rather than a formal reception turned out to be a great idea. It was easier for people to talk and get to know each other. They weren’t assigned tables with people they barely knew. The kids were running around, causing mischief. Antonia and his dad were chatting with each other, getting along perfectly, which was nice. The guests were eating, drinking, and just having a good time.

“What do you think?” Juice leaned into his space to ask. “We did good, right?”

“We did good.” This wasn’t only for them, it was for the ones they loved as well. “I wanted it to be like this. I just didn’t expect it to actually be like this.”

“Waiting for something bad to happen?” He didn’t form it like a joke, in their lives it was usually a real possibility. Whatever could go wrong usually did. “There’s still time for that.”

“I’m choosing to believe that the universe has conspired to give us one really good day.” He could be optimistic, for a day at least. “You think that’s plausible?”

“Anything’s possible.”

* * *

 

“Excuse me,” Chibs knocked his knuckles against the table as he stood up, capturing everyone’s attention. “There’s, uh, something I want to say.”

“We said no speeches.” Stiles reminded, looking both worried and embarrassed already.

“Too bad,” There were things that needed saying and he would say ‘em. “There were a lot of questions yesterday about Juicy and Stiles, and their relationship. I just wanted to, uh-“

“Chibs, you don’t have to-“

“Shut up and let him talk.” Tig shut Juice down. “He worked hard on this.”

“Okay.” The grooms handed the floor over to the Scot.

“I’ve known these boys a long time. I had a front row seat to this relationship they have. The whole club did, actually.” Chibs made eye contact with Tig and Happy, the only two members who had witnessed it firsthand like he did. “I don’t think any of us really thought it would get to this point. To marriage.”

“Definitely not.” Tig chortled.

“In our old clubhouse, we saw a lot of relationships develop, including theirs. Those other couples had this desperation, an _I’ll die without you_ kind of thing.” It was an unhealthy trait that seemed to burden the majority of couples he saw come and go in that clubhouse. “It wasn’t like that with Juice and Stiles. That’s why we didn’t believe it would last. Every other relationship we saw blossom had all the markings of this fairytale love, and theirs didn’t. I think maybe that is why they are the ones who made it here.”

Jax and Tara tried so hard, but they were never going to end on the same page. Had they survived, they would be living two separate lives. Donna and Opie gave it a good go. They could have gotten out, started a life somewhere else if Opie had never gotten pulled back into SAMCRO. Gemma and Clay had been good together, for a while. Their goals had been the same, but they were too alike and that was what destroyed them in the end.

Juice and Stiles didn’t _try_ to be together, which is was all Jax and Tara and Donna and Opie were doing in the end, trying. They just were together. They loved being in each other’s space. They were more comfortable with one another than they were almost anyone else. It is what set them apart from the others.

“Looking at it now, you can see why it’s them. The love they have for each other is real and honest. There’s a respect and understanding between them. They are alike but they’re different. They balance each other out.” The others could never quite get there. They pushed and pulled against each other. They could never just be together. “That is why, as unexpected as it is, out of all the love stories that played out in that clubhouse, those two are the ones who made it. That old clubhouse ain’t even standing anymore, but they still are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that is the end of Crossed Lines.  
> [TUMBLR](http://www.stilinski-ortiz.tumblr.com/)  
> [Youtube](https://www.youtube.com/user/SandM1827/)  
> Thank you for all the comments and kudos, they are greatly appreciated.

**Author's Note:**

> [TUMBLR](http://www.stilinski-ortiz.tumblr.com/)  
> [Youtube](https://www.youtube.com/user/SandM1827/)  
>  Thank you for all the comments and kudos, they are greatly appreciated.


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